


Empathetic

by MatriasLupa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:56:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MatriasLupa/pseuds/MatriasLupa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Born of a drunken one night stand rather than a love potion, Tom Riddle grew up a little differently. Family. Job. And absolutely no insane take-over-the-world attempts. Which all changes when he gets thrown into a world where apparently he grew up to be some sort of mad Dark Lord with a complex and he doesn't have any hair... Or a nose...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Veil

When the summer came and classes seemed to drag, Professor Riddle started abandoning his robes and preferred to roll his sleeves up and do a more hands on lesson outdoors, instead of forcing his students to stay cooped up in the hot castle. Not that he even was keeping classes right now, not with exams being completed the following week. They’d finished reviews the week before and he was giving his students a well needed mental break in between all those harsh study sessions.

“Miss Granger, why don’t you pair off with Mr. Malfoy, and I swear if I hear one snide comment Draco I will not hesitate to take points from my own house!” The Head of Slytherin scolded as he gestured for Mr. Potter to begin helping Mr. Finnegan, switching up the pairs for the third time that class. Luckily Malfoy didn’t dare argue and just gave a curt nod before showing Hermione the proper stance to start a duel in.

“Will there be anything on dueling in our final, Professor?” One of the Gryffindors asked and he shook his head in response before giving them a few spells that were approved for dueling in class.

“What about-?” He heard Mr. Zabini ask, but lost whatever else he’d been saying when a certain ginger haired boy was slammed straight into him, knocking the greying professor off his feet. Grabbing the bridge of his nose and attempting to keep a straight face as Ronald Weasley scrambled to his feet, blushing right red, or was it maroon?

“Did you actually just try to Accio your opponent?” He asked Weasley’s partner dryly, earning a nervous glance to the side. Letting out a loud sigh, the professor gave up with keeping order, dismissing the class with a wave of a hand. “Oh, go on, get out of here the lot of you.”

Luckily they knew him well enough to know that he wasn’t angry, rather just exasperated, and so each gave excited grins before darting over to one of the trees where they had all dumped their bags. Ronald gave him one more embarrassed smirk before joining a few of the other Gryffindors, Granger, Potter and Longbottom among them. “Don’t forget to review the study guides for the exam next week!” He called after his class before giving a chuckle and following his students back into the castle.

While the man was in his late sixties, he didn’t quite look it, outside of the now obnoxiously prominent silver hairs on his head. Minerva claimed that his hair was still relatively black but that came from a woman who’d begun greying in her thirties, so he tended to not believe her. And then there was Lilith, his only daughter, who insisted to him that it wasn’t so bad and that if it bothered him so much he could charm it black again. He liked to think himself above such nonsense, though lately he’d given it more thought than he’d like to admit.

His bag strapped over his chest he smiled as he took the path down to the dungeons, pausing as he passed by one of the open doors and hearing Severus’s familiar voice echoing from within. It had taken him a few years to break him into actually teaching and not just snapping at students, but he was brilliant at his chosen subject, there was no doubt about that. Albus had expressed to him that is Riddle was to retire he’d likely pick Severus to take over as the Head of Slytherin, and perhaps that was Albus’s way of manipulating Tom into staying on for as long as possible, but he didn’t understand handing that sort of position over to a man who clearly had an aversion to younger children. Not that Albus had to worry. He’d likely be on until he was as wizened as the Headmaster himself, wanting to be the one to teach his granddaughter, Sophia, once she came along, and then any others who were begat from his line.

Thinking about it like that almost made him feel old, something he tried to avoid as much as possible. It had been so long since he’d been taken on as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and not shortly after that he’d taken over Horace’s job as Head of Slytherin House when the old Potions professor had retired. No, Albus had nothing to worry about. He didn’t ever think he’d want to retire. Hogwarts was the first home he’d ever had, and he wouldn’t leave it willingly. Of course there had been the years after graduation when he’d rented an apartment in London and hopped from job to job, taking up several as a tutor to some wizarding families, then working for the Ministry for several months, hopping around the departments into the odd jobs they’d need him to do. It had been when Albus owled him to say that Professor Merryweather was finally retiring that he’d owled in his resume and anxiously awaited a reply. Albus, the closest person he’d ever had to a father, or perhaps a batty uncle, hired him almost instantly.

Peaking his head into the Slythein, he checked in on his snakes to find a few groups working together on homework or reading by the fire. Yeah, Albus didn’t have to worry. He couldn’t dream of thinking of any other place as home.

 

* * *

 

 

During the summer, when he had little else to do, sometimes Tom found himself helping out the ministry with things. Not that Shacklebolt didn’t run a tight ship since his promotion to Minister, but there was always the odd job that he or Albus would be called in for. Lately it had been regarding the restoration of artifacts that the department of Mysteries had long since given up on. There was only the slightest hope that either wizard might actually figure something out about said artefats that a whole department full of Unspeakables could not, but Riddle and Dumbledore were known for their discretion and Shacklebolt and most of the Unspeakables saw little harm in having them help.

Sophia had stayed over with him the night before, so Tom was a little late when he strode into the unplottable building on a very hot day in early July. Dumbledore was off discussing a possible link with Beauxbatons and the Salem Institute, something about an exchange program, so he was in the warehouse by himself. He preferred it that way, honestly. Touching the arch of stone carefully he tapped his wand to different parts of the stone, familiarizing himself with it once more, not having seen it since the week previous. It was rough and worn and he could still feel traces of old magic within it. While the ministry file gave a vague outline of the few things that had been known or uncovered about the strange arch, Tom was sure there were things he wasn’t being told. That’s how the department of mysteries worked, after all. Not that he didn’t face the challenge head on with any less enthusiasm. It was a puzzle to him, and no matter how difficult, he loved puzzles and demanded to solve them.

He had studied runes while enrolled at Hogwarts, of course, but whatever the etchings on the stone were, they were either gibberish, decorative, or in a language he was unfamiliar with. He’d discussed this with Albus the week before, and they’d considered asking Professor Babbling, given it was her area of expertise, but they’d yet to copy down any of the patterns to take to her. Conjuring a stack of plank paper and some graphite, he gently placed the paper over the markings and began rubbing the graphite furiously, making an imprint of the design onto the paper. It took him two hours to complete the entire arch, front and back, as well as labeling the papers so Babbling would know what order to put them in.

Wiping his face, he contemplated apparating off for a bite to eat, perhaps at the Leaky Cauldron or somewhere in muggle London. Lately Lilith had bringing over containers of Tai food and he found he liked it. Stepping dead in front of the arch, he stared at him, not really thinking about much of anything, letting his mind wander over possibilities. Giving a sigh he stepped through the arch, but nothing happened. Giving a shrug, he disappeared off with a pop, returning an hour later with a small container of food he’d grabbed from a small Asian restaurant that his daughter had showed him. He sat down with a slight grunt, running his dark eyes over the arch again.

What did he know about it? From what he understood on the arch, from both his own observations, alongside the little information received from the ministry report, he knew that the Department of Mysteries had had the arch a very long time. So long in fact they weren’t completely certain of the date of acquisition, which was odd for them given their detail to paperwork. He could also feel the magic emanating from within the stones that held up the dilapidated arch. The Unspeakables report indicated that on only a handful of dates had the arch ever showed a reaction to any sort of probing. Four dates, so be specific. Even then it had only been on chance that someone had been around o record it, so it was possible there was more than that. The dates and times were written in the file, but they didn’t correlate to anything he or Albus recognized and therefore he abandoned these numbers as being erratic, or due to some force he had no information on.

Albus had suggested it could be in reaction to some more muggle-like science, and it was certainly possible but he wasn’t exactly the person to deal with it, if that was in fact the case. Sure he’d spent plenty of time studying the Dark Arts, he was the Heir of Slytherin, after all, but this magic didn’t feel… dark.

It puzzled both he and Albus that neither were quite sure what they were feeling. Pushing some of the noodles around the container with a fork, he scowled at the arch and rolled his eyes. Perhaps he could go and bother someone for something else to do, for it was clear he wasn’t getting very far with the arch. At last not on that day.

Cleaning up and gathering the few items he’d strewn about while working in the warehouse, he grabbed the papers only at the last minute, grateful he hadn’t forgotten them. Perhaps Babbling would recognize something and give them a lead. Shoving the folder of papers into his bag he blinked, his eyes adjusting to a sudden dimness to the room. It wasn’t dark, per say, but it looked outside that a storm appeared to be brewing. He paused at that and found, some of the hairs on the back of his neck coming to stand to an end, followed by the hair on his arm. Dismissing the sudden dread he felt in his chest, the professor reached up and tied his hair into a tie, running his hand over the back of his neck in thought. Perhaps he’d just curl up with a book, if the weather was going to get so nasty. Perhaps it would cool down some. He turned as he neared the door to the warehouse, ready to shut it when something caught his eye.

Something was in the arch. Blinking, part of him thought it just might have been the shadows cast from the storm rolling in overhead, but no, there was something in the arch. The dread in his chest suddenly increased tenfold and a pulse of magic surged from the arch. He blinked, hurriedly looking to his watch, hoping that he could remember the time it occurred, for he’d need to jot it down in the file ( ** _3:18, 3:18, 3:18_** ).

Stepping back into the warehouse he frowned as he realized what the shadow was. A veil? A long threadbare veil or sheet of some type appeared to be draped over the arch. No. Not over, hanging from within. How strange. Approaching the arch he dropped his bag to the ground and ignored the bad feeling that surrounded the arch. Touching the veil hesitantly, he could swear he heard a voice whispering in his ears, even turning to look over his shoulder to check and make sure no one had entered the ware house.

But he was alone. Blinking rapidly, he rubbing the fabric between his fingers and stepped closer to examine the sheet.

Only he’d set his bag down relatively close and his foot snagged on the bag, causing him to trip forward through the arch. With a sudden gasp his hand shot out to catch himself, but he missed and he grabbed onto the veil with the sort of desperation of someone falling off a cliff. He didn’t realize it, but he might have well have fallen into the ocean for what he saw when he opened his eyes.


	2. Intercepting Albus

_It was a stormy summer’s afternoon when a man by the name of Albus Dumbledore first looked upon Wool’s Orphanage. It hadn’t been hard to find, and he could see many older children, obviously the product of the muggles’ “world war” as he’d heard them calling it. They looked at him with a sort of curiosity that only children could give, no matter how horrid their conditions of situation. Part of the man wanted to whisk them all away and make them happy, take them from this horrid place._

_But he couldn’t. Nonetheless he offered them a small smile and stepped into the Orphanage. A woman was berating a child that apparently muddied the floors and he waited patiently by the door before the woman took note of him, sending the child on their way._

_“’Ello, now who are you?” The lady asked, putting her hands on her hips in irritation, booking a face that was stern enough to remind Albus of a particularly fierce dog. Instead of looking cowed, he simply increased his smile and held out a hand._

_“Professor Dumbledore. Our institution sent a letter regarding Mr. Riddle’s possible enrollment-“ Despite the fact that she’d taken his hand cautiously and begun to shake it, she dropped it almost instantly once the words were out of his mouth and she shook her head._

_“That’s fine and dandy but like the rest of the lot here at Wool’s, Tom don’t have no money to afford to be heading off to any “institution” or the such and we said as much in the letter when we sent it back.” She waved her hands, clearly intending on shooing the man back out the door, but the ginger man held fast and continued giving his most indulgent smile. “Actually, the school would be willing to offer Mr. Riddle a scholarship of sorts, as well as aid in purchasing materials.”_

_This seemed to bring the lady to a pause and she gave an impatient sigh and gestured to the stairs. “Fine, fine, he should be up this way in the room for the younger boys. Y’can call ma Mrs. Cole, professor.”_

_Albus merely gave another pleasant smile, adjusting his glasses as he chose to ignore the irritated manner she interacted with him, and her general silence as she led to one of the rooms gave him time to take in the halls and the rooms he passed after coming to the landing._

_It wasn’t so bad for an orphanage, considering how derelict and disheveled some orphanages could be. The floors appeared to have been mopped recently and while the walls lacked decorations or ornament of any kind, they were relatively clean and appeared to have been painted no too long ago. As the professor passed by the rooms, he could see beds stacked and dresser over pouring with clothes that hadn’t been put away, some odd and broken toys on the ground, a few children playing with paper dolls. It was an orphanage after all, and he hadn’t expected it to be a lively and happy home, but for the place it was, it could certainly have been worse._

_Coming to a halt behind Mrs. Cole and paused as she knocked on the closed door before opening it, peaking her head in only to open the door completely. “There’s a man here t’see you Tom, put tha book away and try t’look smart.” Mrs. Cole stepped from the doorway, leaving the professor to get a better look at the room._

_Like some of the ones he’d passed by in the hall, it was clearly shared by several boys, with bunk beds and some old dressers taking up the wall and floor space. One ragged bookcase took up the rest of the free room and the boy in question seem to have a worn tome in his hands, stretched out on his stomach on the bottom of one of the beds. Albus gave another one of his trademark smiles, taking a few steps closer to the bed. This was the first time he’d seen Tom, of course, so he took in the sight of the boy that would likely be a future student of his. He was tall, perhaps a little taller than most boys at the ripe age of eleven, even if that did make him look a bit thin for a growing boy. At first glance you’d be stuck somewhere between believing the boy to be utterly plain, or intriguing edged on attractive. His black hair was combed back just so, and Albus caught sight of dark eyes that were watching him with a mixture of distrust and curiosity._

_“Hello Tom.” Albus lowered himself to take a seat on one of the lower beds that sat beside Tom’s._

_Tom’s large dark eyes blinked rather owlishly at him and he folded the corner of the book he was reading, closing it quietly before turning to give the older man his full attention. “Hello sir.”_

_“Tom, I’m a professor at a school for people like you and I, and we were quite hoping you might come and study there.”_

* * *

 

Tom let out a loud groan and reached up to grasp his head in his hands, slowly rolling to his knees. Merlin’s beard, he didn’t even hit his head _that_ hard. He blinked, expecting to see the same dimly lit warehouse he’d seen when he’d fallen to the ground, but it was much darker than that and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out the sound of footsteps heading towards him and figures in front of him. Had he been knocked unconscious? It would certain make sense for the darkness, if he’d stayed out till into the night. But as he blinked, it wasn’t the warehouse he’d seen around him.

If anything, it appeared like he was at the ministry, the chamber around him reminding him remarkable of some of the court rooms. He looked over his shoulder, pushing the black and grey hair from his face as he rose slowly. The arch was behind him, apparently having brought him to the ministry. Odd. He turned as the footsteps drew nearer and he caught the sight of two Unspeakables, moving towards him slowly with their wands drawn. He recognized one of them, but not the other. Roland Pluckett, he was fairly certain was the name of the blonde Unspeakable. He raised his hands slowly, not finding their behavior too out of the norm. Appearing from an arch that had specifically been moved out of the ministry would have startled him too, after all.

“Relax, Pluckett,” Tom replied with a steady, trusting voice, “It’s just me.”

Eyes narrowed and Tom frowned when neither appeared to recognize him. Sure he wasn’t the minister or anything, but he was rather well known around the ministry. Surely one of them recognized him. “It’s me, Tom.”

“How do you know my name?” The blonde asked warily.

Something was wrong here. Terribly wrong. Making a split, and rather foolish almost Gryffindor like decision, Tom ducked and rolled out of the way, quickly enough that neither of the men seemed to take note of which direction he’d headed in until he was already pulling his wand and aiming it.

“Expelliarmus!” Tom yelled, aiming first at Pluckett, then sent a stupefy towards the other Unspeakable. Roland had enough sense to dodge the disarm, and Tom sent up a protego to block a few curses aimed his way. Curses? Why were they aiming curses at him?! Luckily, he wasn’t a force to be reckoned with for no reason. He’d spent years training in dueling with Filius and Albus, and after only a few more carefully cast spells and dodges, he’d disarmed and stunned both Unspeakables. Staring down at the pair, the wheels in Tom’s mind spun a bit. He should find Shacklebolt and tell him that he’d had to stun two of his Unspeakables because they’d come after him. Also that apparently if you messed about with the arch during its little power fits, it would transport you places. But something bothered him. Roland had been a student of his, yeah years ago, but it wasn’t like he could have just forgotten the man. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Tom slowly raised his wand and cast a few memory charms.

Feeling a little guilty of it, he stepped out of the chamber, heading towards the Unspeakable offices. The dread was coming back to him and his hair was standing on end once more. Footsteps interrupted his thoughts and not wanting to be found coming out of a chamber in the Department of Mysteries again, he disillusioned himself and stepped behind a pillar.

_“- Dumbledore’s going senile?”_

_“Dunno, but do you really believe all this nonsense about You-Know-Who coming back?”_

_“I mean, what other explanation do we got, what with the Diggory boy dead. I doubt Potter took him down, fourth year’s don’t exactly go ‘round casting unforgivables-“_

The footsteps went past the door he’d emerged from, and he held in his sigh of relief. Or he would have if he hadn’t just taken in bits and pieces of a conversation that weren’t adding up at all. Dumbledore senile? And the bit about Diggory, surely they were talking about Cedric Diggory, one of the Hufflepuff seventh years, who, he was fairly certain, was not dead. Least of all at the hands of Harry Potter…

He pushed the thoughts from his mind as he stepped lightly into one of the empty offices, throwing some of the floo powder from the mantle into the fire and stepping inside. “Hogwarts, Slytherin House!”

The fire roared around him and he held his breathe as the fire spit him into the familiar grate of the Slytherin common room. Wiping some soot from his shirt, he stepped from the fireplace and took a deep breath. This, this felt familiar, and right now he needed familiar. He closed his eyes, letting himself relax, refusing to open them until his heart had slowed back down to its normal rate. Something was clearly wrong. Not that he was certain was wrong, but he’d felt off since his fall in the warehouse. Whatever it was though, he could handle it. Albus would help him, surely, as he always did if and when Tom had a problem that felt overwhelming to him. Albus would likely still be meeting with the headmasters from the other school still, but he was certain he could send a quick letter to the man with Fawkes.

Stepping from the dungeons and onto the stairs, he felt at peace. The dread and worry from only a half hour before was gone, and he had his footing again. Hogwarts had that effect on him, always had and always would, of which he had no doubt. He waited patiently for the finally flight of stairs to make it to his landing and climbed them quickly as he could, mostly out of habit rather than a true sense of urgency. He was a tall man and he’d been used to taking the stairs two at a time since his sixth year of school. Hopping over the last bit and onto the landing he headed down the hall towards the gargoyles, grinning at them.

“Cockroach clusters.” He declared to the statues, and he had to stop mid step, nearly tripping over the statues when they didn’t move. Moving back he glowered before taking another guess. There were only so many sweets Albus could cycle through for passwords, after all.

“Pumpkin pasties.” He said, but again there was no movement and Tom folded his arms impatiently across his chest, “Acid pops, chocolate frogs, bubblegum, fizzy drinks, sugar quills.”

Nothing. “Bertie Botts? Ice Mice?” He asked the gargoyles, who continued to stare off silently. Tom was quite ready to strangle the old codger.

His eyes narrowed in irritation and he threw his hands up, “Merlin’s pants Albus I’m not Honeydukes!” He shouted in frustration at the gargoyles, who, thankfully, remained silent. He had half a mind to take a kick at the statues, but given the fact that he already likely had a concussion, he really didn’t want to add sprained ankle or shin to the list. Nor would he want to explain to Pomfrey why he had a sprained ankle or shin.

A noise down the corridor and he looked up, hoping to catch sight of Minerva or another, sure one of them would know the password Dumbledore had changed it to. He wasn’t expecting to see the Headmaster himself. Letting out a relieved sigh he smiled at the man, but didn’t receive the same warm greeting. Instead, Albus stopped and stared at him as though seeing a ghost.

Shoving his hands into his pocket, the wizard frowned. For some reason, the headmaster looked older than the last time Tom had seem him, and he wondered what could have happened that would have given him such a troubled and wizened look. The words from the unspeakables came back to him and he froze slightly in worry. Had something happened to Diggory and Potter then?

As he went to open his mouth to ask, Dumbledore pulled his wand from his sleeve and pointed it at Tom.

The act alone made Tom freeze, bringing back the dread and a pit was forming in his stomach. Something is no right, the voice rang in his head and he looked at Albus startled. The only time the elder had ever pulled a wand on him had been during dueling. Never in such a circumstance, and certainly not in such a threatening fashion. A lump formed in Tom’s throat and he tried to swallow it down for speaking, “Albus?”

“How did you get in?” Albus asked darkly, like he was ready to attack.

“Albus, what are you doing?” He hated how pathetic he sounded, but this was the man he had, for the longest time, considered as much of a father as anyone could be to him. This was a man he had the highest adoration and trust of.

His eyes betrayed a flicker of confusion, and whereas before in the Ministry Tom held his footing, wanting to snap the man out of whatever this was. He had no clue if he could even best Albus in a duel, and would rather hold his trust by not trying to pull his wand. “Albus, it’s me, it’s Tom.”

“Who are you?” Albus asked, suddenly sounding genuinely tired and confused, like he’d had a long day and wanted nothing more than to sag into a chair.

Tom gave the man a puzzled look, tilting his head. Suddenly he felt the familiar brush of legilimency against his head. Very rarely did the pair attempt communication or open their minds so freely, but in a desperate act, Tom let the probe in, and the memories of the last few hours came forth in quick succession. The unspeakables in the department and the arch, the warehouses, and even to that morning when he’d dropped Sophia off with his ex-wife, Reina.

As quickly as he’d been there, Dumbledore was yanking back from his mind, followed by a physical flinch, in which he jerked his wand back, staring wide eyed at the Defense professor. Suddenly feeling drained of energy, the day’s events catching up to him, Tom slumped against the wall, bracing himself so he didn’t slip to the ground. He wanted nothing more than to go to his room and curl up and go to bed early.

“Tom?” Albus asked and he looked up at the headmaster, grateful that whatever had happened, he’d recognized him again. He was disconcerted when the elder man pulled him into a rough hug, but after a moment weakly hugged him back.

“Albus, what’s going on?”

The older wizard gave him a look, like he was trying to decide how to say what he was thinking, and stepped towards the gargoyles, who politely parted for him, and Tom slipped past them with a fleeting glare.

They climbed the stairs that led up into the headmaster’s office and Tom couldn’t help but blink. Overall, the room was like it was supposed to be, but he’d been a teacher at Hogwart for almost forty years, and had been a student there for an additional seven. It was the little things he recognized as being new, or missing. As a joke the Christmas previous, Tom had bought Albus a crystal ball set`. They had looked to be simply ornate, but they could actually be used for communication, whether it be two way or one way. The crystal ball that Albus had kept on a stand beside his desk was missing, and appeared to be nowhere else in the room. Books and instruments that Tom had grown up seeing on familiar shelves were missing from their place, replaced with unfamiliar objects.

The weight of what he was trying to understand made him slump into the chair, for the life of him feeling like a student once more. “What’s this business with Diggory and Potter?” He asked wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

His question was met with silence again and he looked up to find Albus studying him like he was suddenly completely fascinating.

“Any why did Roland Pluckett not recognize me? Why do you look like I’ve just come back from the dead?” He asked the questions slowly, watching Albus for the little unspoken movements the old man would make.

“Because,” Albus said slowly, “For all intents and purposes, you have.”

Tom straightened up in the chair and leaned forward to rest his elbows on the desk, “What did the arch do? Bring me forward through time? No that can’t be in, because they called Potter a fourth year, and the school year had only just ended.”

“And how do you know Cedric and Harry?” Albus asked gently, probing for questions.

“I’ve only been the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher here for the last forty years, you dolt,” Tom replied with a slight tease, no true venom or hostility behind his insult.

Dumbledore leaned back into his chair and nodded, “I do believe, Tom, that we could benefit from seeing each other’s memories, rather than trying to pick answers from each other.”

The suggestion arched Tom’s dark brows up, but he nodded in agreement. Doing something he had not done since the time before he had learned occlumency, He dropped his barriers. After what seemed like hours and hours of the older man pouring through each of Tom’s memories, he finally felt the presense leave. He blinked his eyes open and looked to the Headmaster, who was wearing a sad smile. “You will not enjoy the place you have come to, Tom, but I will show you nonetheless.”

The phrasing bristled him and he suddenly felt uncertain, like perhaps instead of learning about what had happened, that he’d much rather run. Run far away and hide in a cave and ignore it all and go to sleep and hope that this was all a horrible dream the result of the concussion he’d likely received from his fall through the arch. But Tom Riddle had never backed down from a challenge, and today would not be the day he started. With a deep breath, Tom probed Dumbledore’s memories, before diving in head first.


	3. Becoming Professor Riddle

_“Can you try not to fight with mom?” Lilith asked her father with pleading eyes, the same bright blue as her mother’s. Luckily she looked more like him, the height and the black hair, but she got the tan skin and blue eyes from her mother._

_Tom gave her a reluctant smile, shifting Sophia to his hip as she tugged at his hair. “You know I’m not the one to start those ones,” Tom said, raising his eyebrows. And he didn’t. He preferred a wide berth from his ex-wife. Being in the same country was sometimes too much for him._

_“Just try for me, please. Or else she’ll spend the entire night after you leave-“_

_“What, complaining about how she left me with a four year old while I was working full time at the only wizarding school in Great Britain?” Tom scoffed loudly and obliged by turning his head so Sophia could continue braiding his hair. Whenever he cut his hair, the three year old would complain loudly, and the little brunette had him wrapped around her little fingers, so he kept his hair long._

_Lil gave him a look that said she agreed but what could she do. And while the marriage had ended pretty badly between him and Reina, he hadn’t wanted his only child to lose all connection with her mother. Given that he’d had no connections with either of his parents, after all. Sometimes he regretted ever encouraging the relationship between them._

_“Pop pop!” Sophia declared loudly and he turned to look at her, giving her a broad smile. “Sofie!” He declared in a mock teasing voice, tickling her some._

_“I made chu pretty!” The three year old declared loudly after she finished giggling, and then began wiggling, demanding to be put down. Letting her slide to the ground, the older man watched his only grandchild run off to play with some of the other children, some of them passing around the little toddler brooms that parents had brought along. He reached a hand up and grimaced when he felt the knots of braids and began slowly tugging them apart._

_A loud tisking noise from the other side of the room made the man roll his eyes as he untangled the last of the knots, catching the glare of Reina. Not that she dared to cross the room and approached him, so he did what he’d been doing since Lilith had become of age, ignored the woman’s existence. Grabbing a glass he moved over to interact with some of his former students, he tried to forget the obnoxious blonde woman in favor of the two new aurors-in-training._

* * *

 

                He was regretting the decision to face the problem head on instead of first attempting to wake himself from this madness. This Albus, for this wasn’t _his_ Albus but a different Albus completely who’d never even _liked_ him in this crazed world (and for good reason given that the him in this world was _a completely deranged psychopath_ ).

                Cradling his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees, he ran through different plans of actions in his head. The problem as he saw it was that the arch, likely a portal between worlds, was not in fact a full functioning portal. Either it was broken in some manner, or only worked sporadically. Nothing in the files had ever reported a disappearance during the times of surging power so no one had likely passed throw the arch itself, as he had had. But the fact that there was no description of the appearance of the veil, or shroud or sheet or whatever it was during these times also troubled him. “I don’t suppose there’d be a chance the Unspeakables would let me pitch a tent and wait for the next surge in the arch?” He asked Albus dryly and the elder man gave him an indulgent smile, passing him a bowl of lemon drops. He didn’t take one, his stomach already in knots.

                “I doubt they’d do anything less than restrain you and probe every corner of your mind after they find they two you disarmed and obliviated in the chamber.” Albus reminded him and Tom frowned again.

                “So, how exactly did I- Voldemort, even come up with that name? Had he consumed an inordinate amount of firewhiskey?” Tom asked, trying to make a joke but instead coming off sounding rather sour. Not that he didn’t have the right. Albus seemed to catch on that Tom would rather differentiate between the pair as though they were two separate people because in a way they were, even if they were reflection of what they could have been. Not that Albus was even truly sure what the catalyst that had set them on these two very different paths had been.

                Of course he knew to some extent that the reason Voldemort had never loved or understood love was the fact that he had been conceived under the effects of a love potion. He very much doubted this Tom had not been, hence his ability to love and empathize with the people around him.

                “I believe he made it in his school years as an anagram from his name,” Dumbledore said with a smirk, “So I doubt firewhiskey was involved, but it was probably his attempt at being clever, given it also means ‘flight of death.’”

                Tom rolled his eyes and then rubbed them again, finally straightening in his chair. Albus in some ways already felt drawn to the man, in the same way many who had not seen past the mask of Tom Riddle in his youth had. But he’d seen from this man, in memories that had been laid forward for him to view so readily he doubted the man had manipulated them in anyway. This man had grown up with a love for the Albus of his world that Albus had once hoped to receive from Voldemort in his youth, seen how this man marveled at the beauty of the wizarding world for its true worth, rather than just as a means to manipulate and use for his benefit. He’d even married, though apparently it had ended badly, but the love he had for his daughter and granddaughter was obvious. If this morning someone had appeared and told the headmaster that in another world Tom Riddle had raised a happy and well developed daughter and was helping his daughter to raise a daughter of her own, he would have likely given them a sad smile and reported them to St Mungos for a mental evaluation.

                This also brought up a small problem though, as well as certain… questions. It was clear this Tom had never made attempts for domination of the wizarding world or immortality, he didn’t even appear to have a problem with muggleborns or muggles, and while Albus had been looking into the possibility that Voldemort had used the creation of certain dark items in attempts to become immortal, this Tom had clearly never even considered it.

                “As you saw I am currently on outs with the Ministry,” Dumbledore began and Tom nodded, a small sigh passing his lips as he pressed his dark hair from his face, retying the hairs that had escapes from the tie. “But I do have some contacts that may be able to pass along information of the arch on our end. Perhaps you can make a connection of something or other and it may lead to a way back to your world.”

                Of course Tom had already considered this and while he was hopeful this would be the case, there was a lingering doubt. The dates that had been recorded for decades apart and quite honestly he doubted that he would have the patience to wait that time. Also if there was this world, then that likely meant there were others and that there was no absolute certainty that going through the arch would actually bring him back and not just to another world. The idea that he might have to do this all over again made him sick to the stomach, and he voiced his concerns to Albus, who seemed to agree.

                “That brings up back to Voldemort,” Tom said finally, “I suppose you’re going to ask for my assistance to bring about his downfall?” For all the love, adoration and trust he had for the older man, Tom wasn’t naïve or blind to the fact that Dumbledore rarely did anything without a motive, or ignored a possibly ally. The man was probably one of the most manipulative people in the world, but at least his drive seemed to be focused on keeping the world from falling into chaos, so there was that.

                “Well, given that you have been a teacher at Hogwarts, albeit not our own, of course,” The old lion said with a small chuckle, “And we have a position for our Defense against the Dark Arts professor open-“

                “You want me to take it?” Tom finished, giving Albus a look similar to that you’d give a man who’d suggest stepping on a kitten.

                “Well you are the most qualified, and given I am fairly certain Voldemort has in fact cursed the position, I wouldn’t doubt you taking it would break it.” Albus’s eyes twinkled and Tom groaned at the look, “After all, you are Tom Riddle.”

                He had a point there. And it wasn’t as though he had much better to do other than sit around try to find a way back to his own world. “I’m certain I do not want to take a polyjuice potion or charm myself to look a different way or take on a different name, thank you very much.”

                Dumbledore shrugged and for the first time since they entered the room, Fawkes let out a loud chirp and alighted down onto the desk before climbing onto Tom’s shoulder. Tom crooned at the familiar bird and stroked his feathers.

                “As you saw, Voldemort look little as he once did, as you know do. And very few people are actually aware of the connection between Tom Riddle and Voldemort, believe it or not.”

                The heir of Slytherin gave the headmaster a doubtful look, “How did they not know? Are the people here blind?”

                “Riddle disappeared and broke connections, and a man appeared with the name Lord Voldemort and a face that barely resembled the former Slytherin. Many of his original followers from his school days have passed on and the few who remain, to my knowledge, wouldn’t be keen to run about announcing to the world a second Lord Voldemort is in our midst.” The look he gave was sympathetic, but Tom still did not like being compared to the mad man. “Especially considering the backlash Harry and I have received for simply reporting the reappearance of the first one.”

                “Touché.” Tom agreed. “Plus, I have to admit I’d pay several galleons to see that man’s face when someone tells him a wizard by the name of Tom Riddle is taking the Defense position.”

                “On this we must agree,” Dumbledore said with a smirk. “Now for my other matter, the Order of the Phoenix…”

                “You really must come up with other names for your secret dark-fighting organizations,” Tom said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair, still scratching Fawkes’ head.

                Dumbledore gave a shrug, “I see no reason too. Will you be joining us then?”

                “I doubt, knowing you, I have much of a choice.”

                The quirked eyebrow was enough of an answer so Tom gave a defeated shrug. “Sure, why not, let’s add dimension hopping, Dark Lord fighting fugitive to my resume, my Albus will be tickled when I tell him another him enlisted me to fight myself.”

                This brought a familiar booming laugh from the headmaster, coughing Tom to grin reflexively. Oh yes, this was going to be interesting. 


	4. The Most Noble House of Black

_“Riddle, Thomas!”_

_The eleven year old tried to remember to breathe as he took a tentative step forward. Albus Dumbledore, holding a sheet of paper with all the student’s names in one hand, was holding a large frumpy hat with the other. The man gave him a reassuring smile and he took the last few step to the stool. He sat down and the hat fell onto his head, covering the majority of his head, sliding past his ears until the brim of the hat hit his nose, making the world go dark._

_“ **So this is where the Gaunts went off to.”**_

_Tom stiffened suddenly as a voice echoed around his head, “Who?”_

_“ **Just think it lad, I can hear you.** ”_

_‘Who are the Gaunts?’ He asked, feeling silly for thinking a question._

_The hat chortled, which was ridiculous because hats weren’t supposed to chortle, but then again hats weren’t supposed to sing songs or sort children into houses, at least by what he’d learned in the orphanage. “ **Your mother’s family of course. So, father a muggle, mother a witch, but you didn’t know that did you?”**_

_Forgetting about what the hat had said, he shook his head slightly. He’d only known his mother’s name was Merope, but little else, and even less about who his father was, other than apparently he was named after him. “ **Let’s see,** ” the hat continued, “ **loyalty, plenty of courage, and plenty of cunning, but there’s a thirst to prove yourself there,”** The hat hummed, **“Well, I’m sure old Salazar would throttle me if I didn’t put you in SLYTHERIN!** ”_

_The hat yelled the last word and Tom stiffened once again when Professor Dumbledore reached down and plucked the hate from his head. The table to the far right was clapping politely and he stumbled forward shyly to the table. There was a spot closest to the front of the hall that was left be, probably for the first years to sit down at as they were sorted. He was envious for a moment of the excited cheers he’d heard the Hufflepuff and Gryffindors had given when they had gained a new student, but Hogwarts was the best thing that had ever happened to him and even if his house didn’t seem the most enthusiastic lot, he was going to make the best of it. He could see them looking at him in a calculating manner, the same he’d seen some of the older students at the orphanage give the new children when they were trying to decided what they thought of them. He sat straight up, not ducking his head. He was a wizard, and the hat said his mother was a witch. He belonged here. No one was going to tell him differently._

* * *

 

Tom has been to the seat of the Most Noble House of Black’s family twice before, both for something Christmas related. What he hadn’t expected was for it to be the base of the Order of the Phoenix, or for it to be in complete and utter shambles. It looked positively horrid and as he stepped inside he flinched at the sound of a blood curdling scream.

                _“-DISHONOUR, FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BLOOD TRAITORS AND CHILDREN OF DIRT AND FILTH!”_

                His hands shot up reflexively to drown out the caterwauling and he watched as two men, both very familiar, fought to drag the curtains close across the portrait. Once his ears stopped ringing, he realized he recognized the voice as Walburga Black, the wife of Orion Black and mother to Sirius and Regulus, one of which was standing right in front of him, along with a wizard he knew at Remus Lupin.

                “Shut up you hag!” Sirius yelled in irritation as he finished wrenching the curtains shut and turned to nod at him and Albus.

                “Sorry Dumbledore,” Sirius began but Albus shook his head, “I should have remember to shut the door more gently.”

                Tom lowered his hands and nodded to the two younger wizards, though if he were being completely honest both looked much worse for wear than the last time he’d seen them, making both of them look nearly as old as he was. Remus’s light brown hair was nearly grey, much further down the path than his own, and Sirius’s nearly match his. Both had wrinkles that came from years of stress and advanced aging that he wouldn’t have attributed to the happy and light hearted men he knew and remembered well from when he taught them.

                “Does she always do that?” Tom asked, gesturing with a nod of his head back to Walburga and Sirius gave an unhappy noise of affirmation.

                “Why don’t you move a bookcase in front of her then?” He asked curiously, looking at the two tall bookcases that framed either side of the portrait.

                There was a pause of silence as the Sirius and Remus looked at him, then back to each other with eyebrows raised. “-Actually, that’s a pretty good idea.” Remus conceded with a shrug.

                Sirius smirked at him and nodded, a reflection of the boy he’d once been “I’ll get on it in the morning.” He extended a hand in Tom’s direction, which Tom took with a smile and a nod, finding it slightly amusing that he was being reintroduced to a student he’d known throughout his entire seven years of schooling. The smile dropped a touch as he recalled what he had learned from Dumbledore about the man, that he’d been framed for Lily and James’ deaths, and been imprisoned in Azkaban for twelve years. No wonder he was greying.

                “Sirius, this is Tom. He’ll be joining us this evening, and possibly join in the efforts to reclaim the house from decay,” Albus said with a lift of amusement to his voice and Sirius and Tom both grimaced as they looked around the house, reminded again of its appearance.

                “The rest of the Order should be along shortly,” Remus said, leading the four of them back through one of the hallways, “Molly and Arthur are here, insisted on getting dinner on.”

                “I invited the Weasleys to spend the rest of the summer here, given Harry should be around soon, right?” Sirius asked Dumbledore in a hopeful voice and Tom tried to block out the guilt that washed over him. _He_ hadn’t killed James Potter, nor was he the reason that Sirius hadn’t seen his godson grow through the years. But he still couldn’t help but feel bad in general.

                “I’m sure Molly will do well with the house,” Albus said with amusement, “Though we should perhaps speak about our newest member before the Weasley clan becomes settled in.”

                He could practically feel Sirius’s eyes narrowing in on him with curiosity and quite honestly part of him was reconsidering telling the lot of him the honest story. Perhaps it would be better to come up with an alias and a new story, but he knew it likely wouldn’t hold for long given his natural familiarity with the people he’d be interacting with, not the knowledge he’d possess of them. He wouldn’t be able to explain that away easily.

                As with Sirius and Remus, he had also taught Molly and Arthur in their school years. It was odd, given how different their lives were that so much had remained the same. He nodded at both redheads with genuine smiles and Arthur returned the gesture, though Molly was too focused on the stove to do much more then give him a noncommittal noise.

                If he’d been a different man, granted not as different of a man he’d been in this world, but perhaps more like Sirius, or how he remembered James Potter to be, he wouldn’t have been content to sit back and just watch the Order as they filed in. He hadn’t searched Albus’s memories that he had presented quite as thoroughly as he should have, he knew, but what he’d begun to see brought him so much pain it was hard to dive into the depths to retrieve all the details. Albus has informed him on their way to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place about who had passed in the “wizarding war” as it had been dubbed.

                Despite this, he still had to keep a neutral face when he caught sight of Alistair Moody who had _a bloody peg leg and a magical eye_ , never mind the fact that he’d quite looked like someone had stuck him through a meat grinder or a muggle wood chipper. Frank and Alice Longbottom were missing from the group, and he recalled with a shudder that the pair were in St Mungos, having been tortured to insanity.

                Shacklebolt was there and he suppressed a grim smile at the comparison this Shacklebolt, quiet reserved and still only an auror, made to the Shacklebolt he knew, having risen from the rank of auror to duke it out with Bartiemus Crouch for the position of Minister of Magic. Crouch wasn’t a bad man per say, but he much preferred Shacklebolt, to be honest. Nonetheless to say Tom was quite dumbfounded that Cornelius Fudge (of all people) was the minister of magic was an understatement.

                Dedalus Diggle was there, Mundungus Fletcher, Rubeus Hagrid (whom was shooting him quite confused look, as though seeing someone remarkably familiar), along with Doge and Vance and Podmore and Hestia Jones. A violent flinch and look of wide eyes came from Severus Snape as he entered the room, but with a silencing look from Dumbledore, he smartly kept his mouth shut.

                Then there was the final wave of Order members, including the young Nymphadora Tonks, who still looked like he remembered her when she had graduated Hogwarts, but the other person in the group he couldn’t help but stare at was Minerva McGonagall, whom he openly smiled broadly at.

                Minerva and he had always been at odds, from the day that Minerva had accepted to the position of Professor of Transfiguration and the Head of Gryffindor House. Though they hadn’t attended school at the same time, what with nearly ten years of difference in their age, the rivalry came naturally, given he was head of Slytherin house and openly liked to tease her. Though Minerva tried to be proper about her teaching position, the year after she started the pair had started a subtle but quickly escalating prank war against each other, ending with Albus intervened after Minerva cast a spell that cause Tom to croak like a toad for nearly a week.

                Despite the open rivalry they would likely always share, there was a bit of comradery and affection between the pair, and despite their age Tom had given thought to perhaps asking the woman on a date. Of course Albus had completely laughed at the notion, discouraging Tom in case something similar to his last marriage came to past, lest he bring a stronger feud into the castle.

                Minerva seemed to recognize him as well, and stared at him, coming to a halt in the frame of the door of the kitchen, openly glowering at him. Apparently she was blocking Filius, who was right behind her from view, because he nudged her in after an impatient clear of the throat.

                Giving her a smug look, he folded his arms, for the first time realizing he wasn’t likely going to take the position as head of Slytherin house, and wondered who currently occupied the spot. He was going to punch Albus if it was in fact Severus. Very hard.

                “Are we ready to begin?” Albus asked in an authoritative voice and the sideline discussions came to a halt, a few confused glances cast in his general direction, but otherwise their attention on the headmaster. “I would like to begin the meeting with the introduction to our newest member, as well as a bit of an explanation for his presence, since several of you have already recognized him-“

                “Yes, I think a lengthy explanation is in order,” Severus drawled from the corner, where he was sitting, edged away from the general population. A scoff came from Sirius whom wasn’t very far away from Tom and he heard the man mutter under his breath. It seemed the feud between Sirius and James had went on in this world as well.

                “This is Tom Riddle,” the handful of people in the room who seemed to know the connection between the name of this ‘Lord Voldemort’ whipped their heads to stare at him, Filius, Minerva, Rubeus and Severus all staring at him like he would attack them at a moment’s notice. However that Dumbledore appeared to be inducting him to the group swayed them from any attack they might have had in mind.

                “Tom was working under influence of the ministry on an arch that had since been placed into storage in the Department of Mysteries, when it apparently became active.” A few confused looks from the Order didn’t cause any pause in Albus’s story, and he continued on as though the story he weaved didn’t sound completely and utterly mad. “When he fell through he appeared in the Department of Mysteries, but in a world that is not his own.”

                “Wait, what?” Sirius asked in an astonished voice, looking quickly between Tom and Albus, though others, such as Moody, the large magical eyes swirling in its socket, seemed to be just as curious.

                “Long story short I’m the non-deranged nutter version of your Lord Voldemort and Albus believes that I may be of some assistance in bring about his well-deserved demise.” Tom interrupted, before Albus could answer, earning a roll of the eyes from the Headmaster.

                “Albus, have you gone mad?” Minerva asked loudly as general complaints and disapprovals were shot towards him and Albus. Given what Voldemort had done in this world, he was inclined to agree with the sediment.

                “I have reviewed Tom’s memories and they appear to be genuine and original, with no traces of fabrications,” Albus said loudly over the group, trying to bring them to order once more.

                Despite the fact that the group was slowly settling down, the looks being shot towards him or the open glares were not any less hostile, which was frankly annoying.

                “First you bring a former death eater along and now we’ve got a little replicate of the Chief Death Eater himself,” Alistair announced, the magical eye quickly shooting looks between Tom and Albus, his hand trembling as though it itched to grab the wand Tom guessed was likely stored in the sleeve of his robes.

                With few other ideas or options to calm the group, Tom pushed himself to his feet, the movement bringing a dead silence to the group, the screech of the chair against the floor ridiculously loud in the kitchen. Raising his wand placing his left hand across his chest for good measure, he declared loud, “I, Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior, do solemnly swear that I have no ill intentions to the group known as the Order of the Phoenix, nor its members, and have no desire to kill, hurt, maim, torture, or any other form of harm, mental or physical, to the group, any of its children, or any of the children of Hogwarts. On my magic and life I so swear.”

                A small tremble ran through the room, accompanied by a thing vein of silver light that ran down from his wand, encircling his hand, as well as his upper torso, constricting across Tom’s chest with his words and slowly dissolving as he finished the Vow.

                Silence was met with his words and he turned with a shrug to Albus, “There, I think that just about settles that.”

                “Of course, all groups have spies,” came the nasally drawl from a certain Potions Master in the corner of the room, to which Tom gave a loud annoyed sigh and raised his wand once more to quickly add, “I also swear on my magic that I am not spying for my mirrored image psychopathic self or relaying any information I may learn by attending meetings or interacting with the Order.”

                The room trembled one final time and Minerva was the first to nod her agreement to the Vow, followed slowly by the rest of the Order.

                For the first time in a long time, he felt relatively excluded from the group, and he was grateful for it. He only half listened to Albus and the others as they made their reports, his chin resting on his hand, elbows resting on the table. He thanked Molly with a warm smile when she slipped a plate with a sandwich and some chips in front of him. She seemed a bit flustered at first by the gesture, but gave a nod and continued on passing food out.

                And then as quickly as they had come, they slowly trickled out, giving him quick looks in passing as they passed him. Only a few of the group remained, including who he assumed was the Hogwarts’ staff, Minerva, Filius and Rubeus, and then Remus, Sirius and the Weasleys were still there. He straightened up as he looked at them. “That was tedious.”

                Minerva’s eyebrows shot up and Sirius smirked, “I know, and yet they insist on absconding my kitchen.”

                “Minerva, Filius, Hagrid, Severus,” Albus started and Tom looked around to realize that Severus was still in the corner, looking remarkably like an overgrown bat. “Tome will be joining us at Hogwarts this year as the new Defense against the Dark Arts professor.”

                Filius blinked owlishly and Minerva’s mouth pressed into a familiar thin line. Rubeus simply nodded, seemingly content with Albus’s decision, but it was Severus who spoke up. “Surely you must be joking Albus?”

                “Well, seeing as he’s spent the last several decades in the position, I don’t think there’s another applicant out there better for the job,” Albus said with a small smile in Tom’s direction.

                “Which brings up the question of who the Head of Slytherin house is, because unless this Severus is a loveable kitten, I beg it not be him.” Tom said, result in a loud cough from Minerva, which he was fairly certain was her attempt to cover a laugh, while Sirius began crowing with laughter. Severus’s scowl was enough of an answer and Tom glared at the Headmaster. “No wonder you’re got a bunch of little evil children, that’ll teach you for putting Severus in charge of impressionable children.”

                “And you can do better?” Severus suddenly snapped, standing and glaring daggers in his direction.

                Tom, forgetting for a moment that this wasn’t _his_ Severus and that the man had probably been doing the best he could with a house full of Slytherins, retorted, “Oh yes if I recall I had to spend countless night comforting you after Mr. Black and Mr. Potter had hung you up by the trousers because you couldn’t resist keeping the snark to yourself-“

                “I can’t breathe!” Sirius suddenly declared and Tom looked to see that the Mr. Black in question was doubled over in his chair, grasping his sides as he roared with laughter. Tom stilled as what he said made him squeeze his eyes shut and Severus looked like he was about to start swinging curses and hexes at the lot of them.

                “Tom, Severus,” Albus boomed and for the life of him Tom suddenly feel like a child again. Albus somehow would forever have that effect on him.

                There was little that could be said though, because Severus stormed from the room, slamming the kitchen door behind him, followed by the resonating crack that came with apparition.

                Reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, Tom let out a long sigh and looked apologetically towards Albus, “I feel like the statement, ‘I’ve had a long day,’ is implied here.”

                Albus nodded gravely. “I expect you will apologize to our Potions Master the next time you see him.”

                “So, if you didn’t become a Dark Lord bent on killing off the muggleborns, what’s going on in your end?” Remus asked suddenly, looking like he’d been waiting a decent amount of time to ask.

                Tom gave a shrug and frowned. “I didn’t become a Dark Lord? Bit simple really, graduated, did some work for the ministry, Merryweather retired and Albus offered me the position. When Horace retired they asked me if I’d take over as Head of Slytherin and I’ve been teaching there ever since.”

                “I think,” Arthur said, and Tom looked over to the redheaded man to the first time since he’d entered the kitchen, “What Remus meant is, how did things turn out for the rest of us?”

                The question made sense, though in what he’d learned from Dumbledore, he realized he hadn’t learned learnt much about any of the families he knew, save for the Potters and the Longbottoms. “James and Lily are still married and Harry just finished his fourth year, they have a nine year old daughter names Rose who looks remarkably like Lily. Sirius to my knowledge is still single, took over as the head of the Black family when Orion died, Regulus is married, his son, Orion, is starting his second year.” He made a gesture of ‘let me think’ as he took a seat at the island of the kitchen again and rubbed his temple. “Let’s see, Molly, you and Arthur have seven children, six sons and a daughter, three of them have graduated and I docked Gryffindor nearly one hundred points last year because of a set of twins that drive me spare. Remus is seeing some lady and the only reason I know that is because my daughter is a nosy little thing…” He trailed off and gave a shrug. “Do you want me to try and go through the list of all my current students or is that enough for now?”

                Filius smirked and bobbed down out of his seat with a farewell and Minerva followed shortly after, shooting him a curious look as she went.

                “Reggie is still alive?” Sirius asked after the professors left, leaning out of the way at Molly place a mug of tea down in front of each of them, giving the largest one to Rubeus. “And James and Lily, they had a daughter?”

                While he hadn’t thought about it, it was obvious that Sirius would care most about what he had lost and he gave a nod. “Regulus is dead?”

                “A lot of people are dead,” Remus said with a sad tone, “The war wasn’t good on our numbers.”

                Tom looked to Rubeus, who had been remarkably quite through the entire thing giving him a small smile, “Are you still the Care of Magical Creatures professor?” He asked, wondering what the half-giant remembered of him. He was the only one he’d seen thus far who’d actually been around him the same time he’d been in school. He remembered the half giant as a student very little. After all, he’d been in Gryffindor and he’d been several years below his. He remembered that he’d had a habit of bringing in creatures that weren’t allowed, hence why Albus had offered Rubeus the job.

                Rubeus jumped at the direct question and gave him a small smile, “Yeh, Dumbledore asked me if I’d take it when Kettleburn retired o’ couple year ‘go.”

                Tom frowned and tried to remember when Rubeus had taken the job, but it had certainly been more than just a couple years ago. “Why’d Kettleburn wait so long to retire?” He asked curiously and Rubeus and Albus shared a look before Albus answered.

                “I wasn’t sure if the ministry would allow me to employ Hagrid.”

                Furrowing his brow in confusion Tom looked back and forth between the headmaster and Rubeus. “I don’t follow?”

                “On ‘o count of my wand being snapped.” Rubeus grunted. Tom blinked, looking at the half-giant startled.

                “Did you ever uncover the Chamber of Secrets, Tom?” Albus asked him, and Tom leaned back in his chair with a sigh, the memories coming back to him.

                “Well, yeah, why?”

                “When Voldemort found the Chamber he unleashed the Basilisk upon the school, and a girl was killed. Voldemort blamed Hagrid for the attacks, saying a spider-“

                “An Acromantula.” Rubeus interrupted.

                Albus gave a nod, “an Acromantula had been the one to kill the student. The ministry snapped his wand and he was expelled.”

                The silence lingered over the kitchen and Tom rubbed his face with a hand, a headache coming on. “God, Rubeus, I’m sor-“

                “Ah, no worries,” Rubeus said with a small smile, “Dumbledore let me stay on as the grounds keeper.”

                “Psychopath isn’t strong enough of a word,” Tom snapped, looking at Albus.

                Albus gave Tom yet another sympathetic look and Tom was about ready to smack Albus because he didn’t want any sympathy. Instead the headmaster looked to Molly and Arthur and nodded. “Sirius has said he’s invited you and your children to come stay for the summer. It’s up to you both, of course, but I’m sure Sirius would love the company. However, if this is the case, then we will need to explain Tom’s situation to Ginny sooner rather than later.”

                He had to think back on the memories that Dumbledore had showed them. They were hard to think of as being memories and not just an odd story that he had been told. Bits and pieces came to mind, Harry appearing in Minerva’s office with Ronald and Ginevra Weasley in tow. The story that comes from Harry, killing the Basilisk in the Chamber with Gryffindor’s sword, the soul of Voldemort trapped in a diary possessing Ginny-

                Rubbing his temples, he wondered if perhaps Sirius has a potion for his headache, or even some muggle medicine. Anything.

                “How did he even put a piece of his soul in the diary?” He asked with exhaustion, looking at Albus, who grimaced.

                “I have a few theories, but nothing concrete yet. It was obviously dark magic.”

                Suddenly the silence spanned the room and everyone was clearly sorting through the discussion on their own time. Hopefully Miss Weasley and Mr. Potter wouldn’t try to kill him on the spot. Though he was considering allowing them to hex him as some sort of catharsis therapy. 


	5. Meeting the Weasleys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Thanks for the reviews and comments and what not. This is my first attempt at actually writing fanfiction past more than drabbles, so I'm excited. I've had this idea/plot bunny stuck in my head for a good two or three years. I'm going to answer a couple questions because they were mentioned in Reviews and PMs. This takes place AU to Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Tom will be teaching in place of Dolores Umbridge, but that doesn't mean she won't be around. Don't worry, I have a lot of this planned out.
> 
> Each chapter after the first will feature a bit of Tom's past, either to do with the chapter that follows, as such with this one, or simply because I had the most muse to get myself to write it. As of right now there is no set update schedule for the story, though I am aiming for at least two chapters a week. If I need to I'll implement a Monday/Friday schedule thing, but as of now it's just sporadic.
> 
> Also, because I feel like someone's going to complain about these things eventually; (1) I'm horrible at editing myself, so if you'd like to beta this just ask and I won't have a problem. I try to run it through my Spell check before I post it but you know that it's always the most reliable thing. (2) Accents, I suck at writing out, though I will try to make an effort one it. I may say "fuck it!" at spome point so I don't get hung up on it. Again, if you wanna beta it and fix it, just shoot me a message. (3) I got two messages complaining about Tom is portrayed and that he "doesn't seem very much like a Slytherin."
> 
> It's canon that the reason Voldemort is the way he is is because he was conceived under the effects of a love potion and this means he cannot love or feel empathy. This Riddle was born due to a drunken one night stand, and therefore grew up being able to feel love and sympathy. He's going to be out of character. I hate people who feel like only one personality can be in each house, because that's not how it works. Tom's in Slytherin because he is very cunning and witty, and he had ambitions. Sure it's not "rule the wizarding world" ambitions, but when you come from an orphanage, during much of anything is ambitious. This doesn't mean he isn't brave or chivalrous, or doesn't display characteristics that are attributed to the other houses.

_The weekend before the beginning of Easter break was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Tom was half tempted to apparate to the Gaunt Shack to work on it some more. It had become his project piece since the summer before when he'd acquired it. His uncle, Morfin, was still alive, but sentenced to life in Azkaban, so as the only living descendent of the Gaunt family, the shack and the meager belongings within were his to own. There was a little bit of land to go with the shack, but that he had somewhere that was his excited him. Sure it was literally a shack, no running water, no appliances, straw beds, but it was his. He'd restored some of the walls and worked on getting the new windows in and he was anxious to return to work over the spring holiday, even if he only had a week to work on it._

_He was graduating, and he was trying to focus on enjoying his last year at Hogwarts, but he was also excited because for the first time he wouldn't have to return to the orphanage at the end of the school year. He had a house that was his._

_As Head Boy he'd went along to Hogsmeade to get his mind off class work and to get out of the common room for a bit, all while keeping an eye on his fellow students. Some of the Slytherins around him joked and he smirked in response to their antics. Antonin Dolohov was using his wand to flick some snow in the direction of some younger students who were walking in front of them, earning squeals and some laughs from the more easy going students. Theon Mulciber was chatting animatedly about something that happened in their Ancient Runes class with Arvid Lestrange and Gobán Avery, using a lot of wild gestures and some well-made faces._

_"Come on Tom! That was funny!" Theon said with a slight whine, slapping his shoulder and pulling him closer to the group, "I'm telling you, Dippet did us a great dis-service making you Head Boy."_

_"Oh yeah?" He said, shoving the boy off, but taking the hint, staying within the group of Slytherins, walking with them towards the Three Broomsticks. "How so?" He asked, running a hand through his hair, which was getting a little shaggy._

_"Yeah, you're right boring now," Arvid shook his hand in a gesture to the taller boy, "And you spend all your time studying for the N.E.W.T.s."_

_"As if the Ministry would ever give the Heir of Slytherin less than O's," Gobán scoffed, elbowing Theon, and on cue Arvid began hissing at them, trying to imitate parseltongue, instead just coming off sounding like a drunken snake. Tom rolled his eyes and smacked the other boy up the side of his head, earning a snap of protest. However some sniggers from a group of Gryffindors brought them up quiet and they glared in the general direction of the students coated in maroon and gold._

_"Lot of duffers," Theon muttered and Tom shook his head. "No, no fighting I'm not going to take points away from you lot because you manage to antagonize the lions into a fight again."_

_"So don't take the points away and just let us curse them," Arvid said under his breath, smirking at Theon._

_Shaking his head he pushed away from the group and continued on towards the Three Broomsticks. Or he would have but there was a shout from one of the shops the row over and he froze. He turned, half expecting to have misheard and that his friends had gotten into a fight with some of the seventh year Gryffindors again, but he caught sight of the green garbed boys not too far behind him, pausing in step as well at the shout. He swallowed as a fight poured into the road, some dark cloaked men branding a red band on their arms shooting a few curses around._

_"MAGIC IS MIGHT!" One shouted and Tom reflexively pulled his wand out, dodging a curse sent his way. The street was in less panic then he might have thought, most of the students having enough brains to duck into the shops, getting out of the way. Some of the shop keepers and older students were raising their wands and Tom watched as a first year was dragged from the Three Broomsticks, one of the men holding a wand at the young boy._

_"The muggleborns will be eradicated!" The man shouted, "Crucio!" A stream of red light stemmed from his gnarled wand to the boy, who feel to his knees, seizing up and twitching violently. Something gripped Tom and he ran from the shop, despite Theon's tug on his robes._

_The man looked at him with amusement and Tom steadied himself raising his wand. "Only cowards attack children!" He yelled, "Expelliarmus!" The man blocked the spell, sending it shooting off, breaking the window of a shop. He could hear a shop keeper struggling with one or two of the other men. Hopefully some of the students had made it back up to the castle already._

_A few hexes were volleyed Tom's way and he blocked them, throwing up quick shields when he needed to. The first year was pushing himself to his knees, trying to crawl away, a shop keeper catching his arm and trying to help pull him inside._

_The man seemed to notice too, and grimaced at his lost prey. Tom took the distraction to his advantage pressing forward and someone shouting his name was ignored. A leg locker curse slammed him from behind and he tripped, landing harshly in the snow._

_Someone was laughing and blindly he steadied his arm at the man, who seemed to think he had won, turning around, to hold his arms out in victory, "Magic is might! Follow Grindlewald or perish!" The crazed man turned to spit on Tom, but Tom was ready and waiting and with a snarl the Head Boy screamed. "Diffindo!"_

_Tom had never cast a spell with that much power before, and the effort alone made him woozy, but not as ill as the sight of the man did. The spell did its work, part of the man's chest and his neck tearing in half, blood splattering the snow and the wall of the building behind Tom. He didn't die instantly, either. Tom watched with a sort of horror as the man felt to his knees, his hands grasping wilding at his chest as though attempting to heal the damage. And then he fell over and was gone. Tom's head fell back as all the strength in him vanished and he blinked up at the sky._

* * *

For as many years as he'd been teaching the Defense class at Hogwarts, he knew his course plans like the back of his own hand. Unfortunately, after some conversing with Remus, who apparently had taught for a year in the position, he found out that most of the students were severely lacking in a proper education in the subject. Going through the list of the professors who'd had the spot in the last decade alone made him want to bang his head into the doorframe.

Fortunately though, Remus and he were able to put their heads together to make sure some of the most basic review would be covered in each year to make sure they were all at the levels they were supposed to be. He'd make more changes if need be, but he wouldn't be able to access the damage done until he was there in front of them, judging them on a case by case basis.

Papers were sprawled across the kitchen table in eight messy stacks, seven for the seven years of students and an eighth for a general knowledge bit he'd make sure eat class went through. Sirius had disappeared shortly after lunch and Remus explained there was a hippogriff (of all things) in one of the upstairs bedrooms that needed feeding. Tom decided it might be best if he not question it. He didn't know quite what to think of this Remus or Sirius, or what they might think of him. Sure he'd been fond of them in school, and sometimes he could see traces of their childhood personalities, but he wasn't exactly close with them as adults. It was clear they were on edge around him, but he really hadn't expected much less, but both seemed to be attempting to be nice to him. It probably helped in their cases that apparently the Voldemort in their world held very little resemblance of the man he had used to be, so it was easy for the people around him to simply try to forget who he was and think of him as "just Tom."

It had been three days since his arrival into this world, and while he was still quite frantic to get back to his own world, it was clear the situation in this one was dire. He remembered the last time there was a dark wizard on the loose, Grindlewald, in his case, and the chaos he'd brought to the Wizarding population of Europe had been… insane. He felt most for Sirius though, as apparently he was an escaped convict, and was holed up in the house. Remus was at east free to come and go as he pleased, and Tom was relatively safe moving about in muggle London, which he did with Remus to buy a few clothes and essentials.

Albus had given him an advance on his first month's pay which Remus exchanged for some muggle money at Gringotts and brought back to him. Part of him wondered if he was technically allowed to access "Tom Riddle's" accounts seeing as he  _was_ Tom Riddle and the goblins were known at keeping annoyingly on point when it came to legal matters. Then again they likely wouldn't want a mad man launching an attack on the bank.

He was worried about the arrival of the Weasleys, who would be coming along short, hence why he'd begun working on his lessons plans in an attempt to distract himself. Sirius was also driving Remus spare about wanting to go get his godson, and Tom was curious as to why Albus wasn't indulging the man. He was looked in the house, after all, and from Remus's affirmations Tom was sure Harry would likely love to come stay with his godfather. While Tom trusted  _his_ Albus with his life, and was inclined to give the same amount to his Dumbledore, he was still very aware at what kind of man the headmaster was. Not that he could really understand what he had to gain by keeping the Potter boy locked up with his muggle relatives, but it was clearly something or else he'd have given the go ahead to have him picked up.

He heard the door of the front slam open and he stiffened in his chair as Walburga began screaming loudly about blood traitors and filth again. He turned in his chair and strained to hear, trying to discern who had just entered the house. He grimaced as he heard Molly's voice and looked down at himself, wondering if he should pop up to the room Sirius had lent him to change. He was still in a pair of jeans and a loose shirt, a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose and his hair tied up in a loose tie. He'd opted for the loose and casual clothes the last two days, despite his preference for button downs, vests and slacks, in an attempt to try and appear as harmless as possible.

Also it was odd, he discovered, to be wearing such clothing with Sirius in sweats and Remus stuck to equally casual clothes. Tapping the pencil on the surface he bent his head over the notes he had been scribbling down for the general reviews, hoping to delay the introductions for as long as possible.

So such luck, of course. He heard Sirius laughing from the hallway, the one that lead from the foyer to the kitchen and he wondered if he could just sprint upstairs and hide for the rest of the summer from Miss Weasley. He knew it wasn't feasible given he would likely be teaching her that coming year (if he didn't figure out how to get home), and introductions would still be necessary.

No use delaying the inevitable.

The kitchen door swung open and he turned once more to look over his shoulder. There was red everywhere and he could suppress the grin at the familiar sight. Ron Weasley was the same tall gangly thing he'd remembered from the year before, the same freckled face and flyaway red hair. Fred and George were more of a stature like their mother and older brother Charlie, shorter than the rest of their brothers and stockier, like they were meant to be living bludgers themselves, apt given their spot on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

He'd barely caught sight of the light brown eyes when there was a flurry of long red hair and Ginny was drawing her wand on him, a look of hatred and fear in her eyes. Shit. He backed into the table, hands raised slightly in surrender, his wand still stashed in his back pocket. Remus and Molly moved the fastest, jumping between Tom and the youngest Weasley child, trying to diffuse the situation while Molly's sons seemed to back out and watch with a mixture of intrigue and amusement.

"Ginevra!" Molly said in a stern voice, holding onto her daughter's wand hand, which was still trained on Tom and now Remus, "Ginny, love, put your wand down."

Tom had to give it to the third, wait, no, fourth year now. She was a determined little spit fire, similar to the one he remembered. "What's  _he_  doing  _here_?!" Ginny demanded loudly, not lowering her wand and Tom cast a quickly glance at Molly and Remus, wondering how they'd even go about explaining such a thing. Turns out, they didn't seem to know, as they both turned to look at him for answers.

Letting out a small sigh and nodded at Ginny, "You may send a hex or two if you wish, if it'll help with the anger." He offered gently, which she clearly had expected because she stiffened, her wand trembling slightly as the girl clearly tried to wrap her mind around everything.

"What did you do-"

"To ickle Gin-Gin?" The twins asked and Ginny's glare came back to full strength.

"Besides possess me through his bloody journal!?" She shouted, sparing the twins a glance, but she was quickly looking to Sirius and her mother, "What's he even doing here?!" She demanded.

"Wait, that's…?" Ron said, comprehension dawning on his face, pointing at Tom and Tom wondered if he'd get cursed if he sat down on the table.

"Yes, Tom Riddle, non-psychopathic Dark Lord Edition at your service, Miss Weasley can you please lower your wand so we may discuss this?" Not that he wasn't going to sound like a nutter when explaining it.

There was a pregnant moment of silence where all eyes looked to Ginny and she stared him down before slowly lowering her wand, not putting it away though, her hands clasped so tightly around it they were a pale white.

"Long story short, I'm not the Voldemort of this world I came from a world where I didn't become a raging lunatic and I'm sorry for your unfortunate first year of school on my other me's behalf." There was a pause where the twins made faces of scoffing disbelief and Ron just kind of stared wide eyed. "Also," Tom remembered to add, "I've made an Unbreakable Bow to the Order that I will not spy on the Order, or harm them, their children, or any Hogwarts students."

A whistle came from one of the twins and the other continued, "Unbreakable Vow? Bit serious."

"No one bit me," came the good humored answer from Sirius and the only ones who though to laugh at the joke were the twins. The rest of the occupants in the room rolled their eyes.

"So you're not-" Ginny gestured with her free hand, "You're not Voldemort?"

Tom nodded, "I'm Tom Riddle, just Tom, no crazy dark lord take overs, no cult, no massacres."

She nodded slowly and then asked, "Have you ever killed anyone?"

The defense professor opened his mouth then closed it. "Yes."

The silence echoed again, like the first night at Grimmauld place when he'd stood before the Order and made the Unbreakable Vow. "You have?" Remus asked, turning to look at him.

Tom nodded slowly, running one of his hands over his face. "When I was a seventh year… there was an attack on Hogsmeade, some of Grindlewald's fanatics and…" He shook his head and hopped up onto the table, "One of the first years were hurt and I cast a cutting curse and it killed one of them… the fanatics," he clarified.

"Oh," Ron said, shrugging, "Then that's not like, y'know, what you do here then."

"Come no," Molly interrupted, urging her daughter to take a seat in the kitchen, "How about a cold butterbeer?" She asked. Slowly the mood seeped away, though the Weasley children were staring at him like one might an animal at the zoo. He wasn't a fan. Luckily, or unluckily, depending on how you look at it, Fred, or George, since he could never keep the two straight, had caught sight of what was written on all the papers scattered all over the table.

"Cor, you're going to be our Defense professor?" One asked and Tom slowly nodded, slipping into the seat he'd been occupying when the Weasleys first entered the room.

"Nothing like learning from the Dark Lord himself," The other twin said good-naturedly, ignoring the glare their mother sent in their direction. Ginny was very pointedly not looking in his direction and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. Should he try to make the girl feel better or just leave her be?

"I'll be meeting the Grangers at the Leaky Cauldron tomorrow to pick up Hermione," Molly said to Sirius, passing around tea and butterbeers to the group, "When will Albus be bringing Harry by? Poor boy doesn't eat near enough at the muggles' place-"

"He said soon, but he always says soon," Sirius grumbled, taking the butterbeer from Molly. "Hedwig came by twice in the past week with letters asking the same question."

Tom cleared his throat, hoping to gain entrance to the conversation, though he wasn't quite expecting all six heads in the room to jolt his way. "Why does Albus have to go and fetch him?" He asked.

Remus shrugged, "There's wards on Harry's aunt and uncle's home, based on the same blood wards that kept him safe from Voldemort for most of his life. They only work if he considers the place home. I think Albus worries that if he comes running off to the Weasleys or Sirius at everything turn the wards will diminish."

Tom raised an eyebrow, "The summers over half done, though." All he got in response was a light shrug.

The rest of the day passed quietly. Tom stayed clear of Ginny, moving his work on his lesson plans to the Black Library instead, though the twins seemed to find amusement in bothering him. Not that it was truly bothering. It was more of a welcomed distraction to his current situation and the nagging feeling he had about a certain Mr. Potter. Albus generally gave better answers than "soon," and it was clear we was trying to ward of Sirius from Harry for as long as possible, but again, he had no idea what the incentive for this could be. It could be true that part of it came from having him there to strengthen the wards, but if Voldemort had taken Harry blood in the ritual at the end of the year as Dumbledore had described, then he wondered how strong those wards could truly be.

* * *

It took three more days and the arrival of Miss Granger for Tom to make a decision regarding what he considered the "Potter matter", though a good deal of it came from watching Ron and Hermione be pecked repeatedly by a large snowy owl. Mr. Potter, it appeared, wanted to see his friends and Godfather.

Miss Granger, having never seen Tom for his appearance, did not have such a strong opposition to him as Ginny did, and seemed to find him relatively interesting when it was explained how he came to be there. Molly put the lot of them to work cleaning the house, though sometimes she insisted to Tom and Remus that "they didn't really have to." He wasn't sure if she was trying to be polite or simply keep him apart from the children. He also found it interesting that while Harry, Ron and Hermione were close friends here, Neville Longbottom was not a part of their group. He wondered if the difference was due to his grandmother or if without his parents he was simply shyer of a child. At first he wondered why Remus hung around Grimmauld Place that first week, instead of out doing things to help the Order, but it became clear that he was there not only to keep Sirius from running up the walls, but also to keep an eye on Tom as well. At least Tom was fairly certain he was. Albus wouldn't likely trust him immediately, despite laying forth his memories and making his Unbreakable Vow. Not that he had expected any less, but it still stung in a way.

When Tom expressed his concern about Harry still being at the muggles, Sirius was glad to latch onto whatever idea the older man had, that much was clear. Black was bored and confined to a house that he'd grown up hating, and Tom would have invited him to come along were it not for the fact that the man was still considered "armed and dangerous" in the eyes of the muggle public. He'd likely cause a frenzy if seen.

That didn't mean Sirius couldn't be helpful in his own ways, though. He was able to supply Tom with the address where Harry's aunt and uncle resided, but that wasn't quite enough either. If Ginny, who from what he had gathered, had only seen a seventeen year old version of him, was able to recognize him instantly, than Harry would likely be able to as well. And of course he wasn't exactly going to go with the man who killed his parents. Sirius was out of the question and Molly wasn't the sort to openly go against Dumbledore without good reason, so that left him Remus. (Tom had even considered asking the twins, since he knew they were of age, but he didn't doubt that Molly would likely curse him into next week if he somehow convinced her children to do something she wouldn't approve of.)

So Remus it was.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," The younger man grumbled after straightening his shirt. Little Whinging was an incredibly dull place, Tom found. Each house was identical to the next and each lawn was perfectly manicured. It was the late afternoon and some of the houses had there's perfect cars pulling into the drive. Even the people looked very similar to one another and he found himself inwardly cringing.

"Perhaps I should have brought Sirius then," Tom mused aloud, a small smile on his lips at the glare Remus cast his way. Of course, Remus clearly cared for the boy as much as Sirius, but he was also the more responsible of the pair, and despite not wanting to go against Dumbledore's orders, he still had agreed it couldn't hurt "to check on the boy."

"Privet Drive…" Tom drawled, looking from the piece of paper up to the sign post he gestured to the street. "Number four."

If it weren't for little numbers on the mailboxes by the road or hanging on the front of each house, Tom had no doubt the pair of them would have become lost in the muggle town in seconds. Instead they walked down the sidewalk, earning only one or two peculiar glances from the neighbors, counting the residences until they found Number Four.

Giving Remus a little push to the door, the man nodded and gave a brisk knock. Then another. It was as he went to knock a third time that a thin woman with a narrow face answered the door. She was… rather tall and thin, and that was rather all Tom was willing to judge on the subject. Especially as she didn't look like a pleasant sort of woman.

"Hello," Remus started, giving the woman Tom presumed to be Harry's aunt a soft smile, "We're here to ah, pick Harry up for the summer."

The blonde glared at Remus through narrowed eyes. "Pick him up? You mean he'll go stay with… your lot?"

There was a moment of silence while Tom and Remus blinked stupidly at the woman, but Tom recovered first. "Yes, ma'am, Harry and my son are good friends, I'll make sure to duck him off to Diagon Alley and to King's Cross before the school year starts." The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue and followed it with his best "I'm a perfect gentlemen" smile that he could have used to get away with murder if he wished (quite literally).

Harry's aunt blinked at him, still looking quite suspicious, like she expected them to jump her and rob her blind the moment her back was turned. "He's not here right now," She said finally, "he'd off at the park with his cousin and some friends."

Before either could suggest going inside to wait on Mr. Potter, the muggle, for all her audacity, slammed the door in their faces. No wonder Harry didn't want to hang about.

"Wonder which way the park is…" Remus pondered quietly.

"Somehow I doubt that woman would have told us," Tom said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was back in his slacks, and vest, something he was regretting instantly due to the sweltering heat.

"Let's try this way first," Remus said, heading up the road, the opposite way from which they had entered. "I didn't see a park on our way in." Tom nodded in reply and the pair took off at a brisk walk up the sidewalk, trying to catch sight of something that might resemble a park.

 


	6. Rescuing Potter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good sweet baby Andraste this took me a ridiculously long time to wrap up. I had finished it LAST week but how I wrote it out Dudley was not involved and I reminded myself that a large part of why Dudley changed his attitude towards Harry was because of this incident so I tried to include it in a way in which would still have some lasting impact, ever if it wasn't as strong as Harry saving him himself. The res of the updates should take this long, it was more of a "not wanting to rewrite it" thing, coupled with Halloween and some homework that had piled up.

_Marvolo Gaunt was deceased. His daughter, also deceased. His son, Morfin, was locked up in Azkaban for life for torturing some muggle children who decided to play a prank on the Gaunt home._

_Therefore, the Gaunt Shack’s ownership fell to the only remaining Heir of Slytherin. Him. Tom stood warily in front of the shambled gate, off its hinges and stared at the building, wincing at the sight of a long dead snake, that was pinned to the door. That was… odd, to say the least. Perhaps it had already been been when it had been hung there?_

_Suddenly the orphanage he’d been raised in looked a lot more charming than he’d once believed it to be. Once he’d dreamed of being found by his family, of having a home, but this. This was disgusting. Dumbledore had been the one the year prior, upon reaching his majority,to help Tom file the paperwork necessary to reclaim what little was left of the Gaunt’s land and possessions. They had no Gringotts vault, but the shack and the forest that surrounded it had come into his name. He intended to make use of it. Sure, it would be a lot of hard work, but he was a wizard, the Heir of Slytherin and Dumbledore had offered to help and also offered him a place to stay should the renovations continue on past the end of his seventh year. Not that that was in his plans. Even if it was this deplorable shack, it was nice to have something. Have a place to go after Hogwarts, instead of worrying about finding a home of his own._

_The first thing he did was take inventory. It was the beginning of the summer and he had a couple months to work consistently on the place before having to return for his final year of schooling. He’d also have the winter holidays to work but he knew if he didn’t get a substantial amount done during the summer, the house might not be warm or secure enough to live in in the winter._

_The walls were cracked and broken through in some spots, vines and bushes and other flora had started to seep through the walls and broken windows and take over the house. The thatched roof was caving in. It was a two roomed shack, with one open room with the remains of what might have been a kitchen, along with two broken wooden chairs by an old dirty fireplace. The second room appeared to have once been a bedroom. His plan had originally been to fix up the place, but now he was certain that it might just be easier to gut and demolish the building instead. Deciding he would need some help in coming to learn how to build a house, he popped off, plans already swirling in his mind._

_Of course, after a month significant progress had been made. It was just the walls, the foundation and a roof, but it already looked much more stable than the shack had. Dumbledore showed him how to utilize the wood from the forest and transfigure it instead of spending money on clean cut lumber. He also found several spells to enlarge the rooms and make expansions on the house, but he wanted to get a kitchen and bathroom set before he tried anything glamorous. As expected, all of his work had drawn the attention of the residents of Little Hangleton, the closest town to the Gaunt Home. A few people had stopped by once or twice, and after the first close call he learned to set up a perimeter alarm so he could cease his magic should a muggle stumble upon him._

_Many assumed he bought the shack and the land, and paled significantly when he told them his name. Tom Riddle, of the Riddle Manor, lived on the opposite side of Little Hangleton, and owned most of the town and the area around it._

_While it made him uncomfortable, the idea that this man, who he was nearly certain was his father, his real father, lived a relatively short walk away. He knew little of the man, and honestly wondered if he even knew of his existence. To his knowledge Merope had never taken the name Riddle in the Wizarding World, and there was no documentation of a marriage, so he had to wonder. Another gossipy old woman who brought him a sandwich and biscuits one day (probably just to give an excuse to invite herself in and see the half empty home) told him he looked just like Tom Riddle of the Riddle Manor and wanted to know if they were cousins._

_Years of transfiguration classes were finally coming to use as he practice turning trees into furniture, opting instead to simply use the money he’d loaned to buy the appliances he thought were necessarily, bathroom facilities included._

_It was here, on his back trying to fidget with the kitchen sink he was installing, that the perimeter alarm went off once again. He froze and made sure his wand was tucked away, tossing it into one of the cabinet drawers. The wizard had decided that installing the muggle appliance by their instructions and by hand would actually be much easier than trying to master the spells that were required to get the appliances to function._

_A polite knock came at the door, but it wasn’t followed by the annoying loud “Hellooooo!” that came when the nosy women of the town stopped by. He paused and called out an invitation to whoever had come to his new home, and began wiggling out from underneath the cabinet._

_The door opened and he came face to face with a mirror. Well not a mirror exactly but it was the closest thing he’d ever seen to his own reflection, though the man in front of him was clearly older than he. Pulling a rag from off the counter he wiped his face off and blinked. The older man, Tom Sr, he presumed, was dressed very nicely and looking at him with a look he’d seen before. It wasn’t disgust or astonishment, rather it was… judgemental? That was the only word he could think of, the same look many Slytherins had given him when he’d proved to be an asset in class, and then again when they discovered he was the Heir of Slytherin._

_In a way he was grateful the look wasn’t contempt._

_“So,” Tom senior said, taking a step away from his son and into the half shambled living room, some basic furniture having been pushed against one wall because he’d only just finished painting the day before. “It’s certainly an improvement on the eyesore that was here before.”_

_Tom nodded and wondered what there was to say to the older man. Should he pretend to ignore the obvious? However before he could think of something to say, the man was continuing on, “where has Merope been keeping you tucked away?”_

_Tom junior raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, taking his time to pick his words. He hadn’t told anyone anything about himself, other than that he was Merope’s son and had inherited the Gaunt’s land._

_“She died in childbirth,” Tom finally said quietly, lifting his eyes to look at the older man. He didn’t show any remorse, and Tom realized he hadn’t truly expected any._

_“And what of you? One of the ladies in the village made mention you were in attendance at a school in Scotland.”_

_He was probing, and Tom found he didn’t know what to say. The least would be the best clearly. “I grew up in an orphanage in London and got a scholarship to attend a school, yes.”_

_Tom senior nodded, but said nothing for a time, simply taking in the house. Finally he turned and looked his son up and down once again. “I am surprised I wasn’t approached, quite honestly. Even an addled brain fool would match you to me for your parentage.”_

_Of all the things, Tom hadn’t expected this. Dumbledore was the closest thing he’d ever come to having a parent-like figure in his life, but even then the transfiguration professor was more like an uncle to him than a father. Even then he was hesitant to accept or seek out help. His time at the orphanage, and then in Slytherin house, had taught him that nothing came for free, and unconditional love, romantic or parental or otherwise, wasn’t something that people like him received._

_“Even if I knew my father was still alive, I doubt I would have expected anything from you,” he said curtly. “Would you have accepted me with open arms and the promise of a home?” Suddenly, for the first time in a long, Tom lost control of his well reigned emotions and he openly glared at his father, “I don’t want anything from you.”_

* * *

 

A man who was watering his garden gave them directions to the only local park, which was only a street over, and Tom and Remus walked side by side.

“I wonder if Dumbledore knows what we’re up to yet,” Remus said and Tom gave a grim smirk. It was true, Albus had always been very manipulative, but Tom had always trusted him to do the right thing. Of course in his world, Albus and he had grown close, and the two relied on each other’s opinions heavily. They enjoyed bouncing ideas off each other. The Albus in this world did not have that luxury, along with even more stress that Voldemort brought to the table. It would make sense that he’d play his cards close to the chest so no one would mess up the carefully aid dominoes.

However that didn’t excuse the casualties that came with it, from the deceased Cedric Diggory or the distressed Harry Potter. Albus was going to have to learn to work as a team, rather than some omniscient God hiding behind the metaphorical curtain.

“Well if he has a problem with it I’ll deal with it,” Tom said curtly. Potter’s aunt gave him the chills and he knew the reason it bothered him so much was he couldn’t help but remember how he had longed to be able to escape from the orphanage during the summer as a child. Here Potter had an escape, and he was being denied it.

“He cheeked me.” A voice from up ahead said and on the sidewalk across the road Tom was able to make sight of two boys walking in their direction. One he recognized as being Harry Potter, though he was a little shorter and skinnier than he remembered him. The other, who he assumed was his cousin, was much larger, in height in width.

“Yeah?” Harry said, the familiar snark in his voice. He felt Remus bright at catching sight of the boy and the pair began walking towards the boys who were both too preoccupied with ec other to even notice them. “Did he say you look like a pig that’s been taught to walks on its hind legs? ‘Cause that’s not cheek, Dud, that’s true…”

Whatever Potter’s cousin might have said was whisked off when he finally noticed them and his brows came together. Harry turned, following his cousin’s gaze and luckily caught sight of Remus first, brightening immediately.

“Professor Lupin!” He said smiling at the man, “What are you doing here?”

Remus smiled and gave the boy a look of love and affection, something you would often see between a parent and their child, but Tom had no doubt without Lily or James, Sirius and Remus had probably stepped into that role for Potter. “Hey pup, we’re here to take you off you’re aunt and uncle for the rest of the summer.”

Potter made an excited noise and Tom’s attention drifted over to Potter’s cousin, who was now continuing on his walk back towards home, deliberately ignoring them. “Padfoot would have come but I think Molly would have strangled him if he tried,” he heard Remus say and Tom turned back to the pair.

Harry finally got a good look of his second “savior” and his eyes widened, though this time Tom was more prepared for the strong reaction that it brought. Remus had the foresight to clamp his hand down on the boy’s shoulder and pulled him closer, wrapping his arm around his shoulders, “Don’t worry, Harry. He’s with us. Professor Dumbledore cleared him.”

Clearly Albus truly held a lot of sway with the boy and he wondered if Albus was close to him in the same manner he had been, a father, an uncle, a grandfather, that sort of thing. Harry relaxed considerably and nodded, as if steeling himself from something. On the whole this Harry seemed already far different from the Harry Potter he had taught the for last four years. This Harry was shorter in stature, which was odd because he recalled that Potter once held the same lanky height of his father, James. He also seemed ganglier, if that was possible, wearing clothes that were far too large for his slight frame, and having seen the boy’s cousin Tom would hazard a guess that it was his old clothes. Which made little sense, seeing as he knew the Potters had plenty of money and it was clear from the cousin’s clothes and the immaculate suburban home that Potter’s relatives weren’t exactly living in the gutter.

And granted he’d only been in the presence of the boy a handful of minutes, but it was clear this Harry was different from the Potter he knew. Potter was near identical to his father, James, cocky to a fault with the same brave to stupid knee-jerk reaction that came with the best of the Gryffindors, as well as his aptitude for practical magic, rather than theory. Though he had his mother’s curiosity and compassion, and had Minerva not suggested the boy to be prefect he’d be thoroughly surprised. Several times he’d witnessed him and Longbottom dressing down fellow Gryffindors for picking on another house or the lower years. This Potter, Harry, as he came to think of him in his head, was not as bold or abrasive as his father. He seemed shy and weary, like a soldier who’d seen too much, his eyes looking older than his age. He was slumped slightly, like he was used to having to appear submissive to his relatives, and the admiration and love he was giving off in waves from the side glances he shot at Remus were… saddening, to say the least. The Potter of his world had never lacked for love or affection, but it was clear this one had known little.

The dark was now upon them, in that way it did in the summer, where it seeped up slowly before covering them entirely. A slight draft was creeping over them and suddenly Tom was grateful for the clothes he wore, wondering if he should unroll his sleeves. It was then he realized that even in England it didn’t feel this cool, not in the summer. Muggy, humid, rainy, yes. But not cool. He stopped and held a hand aloft to gesture to Remus and scanned the area. A slight mist or fog had settled in and suddenly he felt a shiver travel up his back, the hairs on his neck and arms standing on end. It felt like…But it couldn’t be. Not in such a muggle place. Remus, and much to his surprise, Harry, seemed to realized what was going on as well, or at least picked up on the fact that something very bad was about to happen.

A noise like something from a yell came from the road over, and Tom watched as Potter’s cousin came back around the bend as a sprint, huffing loudly as he ran towards them. Like a bad story the dark figures rose from the ethereal mist behind the boy. There was two of them, which wasn’t so bad considering there was two strong wizards and one underage wizard if the situation warranted it, but still the fact that there was two dementors running around Little Whinging was a source of concern. The fact that there was a young muggle between said wizards and the dementors was probably the worst of it, though. What’s more, despite the fact that he knew for certain the only colony in existence of dementors still in existence were controlled exclusively by the Ministry of Magic and that they all were located on the small island that house the wizarding prison, Azkaban, these two dementors seemed to be actively seeking them out.

“Potter! What are you doing!” The cousin yelled, tripping several meters in front of them. “I can’t see! I’ve gone blind!”

“I’m not-”

“Grab your cousin and clear off!” Tom ordered sharply, dashing forward to grab the large boy’s forearm. He wasn’t prepared for the boy to yank back from his grip and he swore, ripping his wand out of his pocket.

“S-stop it! Whatever you’re doing!” The large boy whimpered, backing away from Tom and closer to the dementors, who were still pressing on towards them. “I’ll tell my father!”

Tom resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and instead grabbed the boy quite roughly and threw him behind him, in the general direction he knew Potter and Remus were in. “Fool boy,” he muttered irritably, turning back to deal with the problem at hand.

Summoning one of his happiest memories, Tom drew his wand and spoke the incantation aloud, not wanting to waste any of his energy on a simple wordless spell. “Expecto patronum!”

A large snake, which he knew to be a python, appeared from the funnel of light and began slithering towards the two hooded figures, hissing and rearing up in front of them in an intimidating fashion.

“Remus, get Mr. Potter and his cousin back to their home,” he instructed calmly, not wanting either to have to deal with the foul creatures in front of him. He luckily had plenty of happy memories to fuel his spell, but given what he knew about both men he wouldn’t doubt that they would have a more difficult time with them. Also there was the fact that he did not wish to deal with the muggle boy and would much rather leave it to them.

_The first time he saw the shimmering lights across the lake, the creaking of the boat as all of the first years tried to get the best sight of the castle, the way his professors praised him when he came out top of his class, holding Lilith for the first time._

Pushing a bit more into his spell he could feel some of the happiness ebbing and it only took a few more minutes and a few harsh strikes from his patronus to send the foul creatures seeping back into the darkness. Despite their retreat, Tom held the spell, enjoying the security as the python wound its way around him. “Find Albus, tell him Harry is in trouble.”

Is, not was, of course would grip his attention more quickly and he wondered if perhaps the old man had put a perimeter around the boy with alarms and, if so, how far they extended.

Looking back towards Privet Drive he could see that Remus had successfully carted the boys off and the trio were hopefully within the wards of the home. Of course that brought him back to his original thoughts. Two dementors weren’t exactly overwhelming for two wizards but whoever had sent them surely would have known that. An underage wizard though, who was already on the hostile end for the witness of another boy’s death? One dementor was bad enough, but two was just overkill, if that was indeed the case. Suddenly any guilt that Tom might have held in sneaking off with Remus was replaced by irritation. It was a good thing that they had showed up at all considering someone had either just planned to have the boy attacked or at the very least get him in a severe amount of trouble.

He was lingering, which he knew probably wasn’t for the best because he wasn’t certain if the dementors were simply sent to stir up trouble or meant to due true harm. Not wanting to waste time, and not truly caring what muggles might see what, he disappeared with a loud crack before appearing out onto the street, several houses up from Number Four. In the house one or two doors down Tom caught sight of Remus kneeling on the sidewalk a few houses down from Number Four, holding Potter’s cousin steady as the large blonde woman shook.

“-you that you’ll be alright in just a moment.”

“I was s-so cold, thought I’d never-”

“Be happy again, yes,” Tom finished, stepping up beside Remus, looking Harry over, who was standing beside his cousin. “They’re gone now, and I’ve sent word to Dumbledore.”

“Ah well,” Remus looked up and gave a slight smile, “One of the Order was about so I suspect they’ve flooed him.”

“Why didn’t Mrs. Figg tell me she was a witch?” Harry suddenly demanded in a very irritated tone and Tom gave him a look that conveyed he hadn’t the foggiest what he meant.

The door to the house they stood in front of swung open and an old woman came out at a hurried shuffle, a large cat winding itself around her legs. “Because I am not a witch Potter, now keep your voice down.” She came up clucking her tongue, offering Potter’s cousin a large piece of chocolate. “Dementors, ghastly things,” She said knowingly and began to mutter on about something else.

“Why would-” Remus paused as his thinking appeared to catch up with him and he let out a distressed nose, wrapping an arm around Harry, who appeared both unharmed, confused, and annoyed. “Does that mean he’s already infiltrated the Ministry?” Remus asked him with an astonished voice.

Tom shrugged, “I cannot be sure, but unless that much has changed and someone else might just happen to have control of two dementors, I would say it would have to be on ministry orders.”

The woman whistled lowly, “Albus is going to have a fit.”.

Tom had half a mind to set a real python on Albus at the sight of Harry, whose face was displaying a most informative series of emotions, each passing an instant after the other. He hadn’t even known his neighbor was a squib, clearly.

“-And I fully blame Mundungus for it, of course,” the woman, who Tom found out was named Mrs. Figg, continued on, “He was on patrol tonight, let Albus know that, Or else there’d have been back up with you lot.”

Remus was nodding as though he fully understood what was being said. Tom decided it was likely best to leave the werewolf to taking it out with the lady and instead kneeled down to look over Potter’s cousin. He was still shivering and quite pale, but appeared fine otherwise.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Tom asked, to which the teenager replied dutifully. “Now follow my finger with your eyes, I’m going to make sure you’re right as rain before we send you back to Bedlam.”

Harry snorted back a bit of laughter at this and Tom bit back a smile. “How are you feeling now?”

His cousin was much more subdued now than he was before and nodded, “A-a bit better. What…?” He trailed off like part of him didn’t truly want to know.

“Dementors,” Tom answered truthfully, “Someone likely sent them to harm your cousin, or at least stir up some sort of trouble.”

“But who’d bother with you?” The cousin asked in an astonished voice and Tom looked back at Harry, brows raised again. He’d need to stop making that blasted face or it might get stuck that way. Luckily, Remus and Mrs. Figg were still talking about something or other so they might as well have been in their own world.

“I’m to assume the events of the past year were not discussed with your family?” Tom asked Harry, slowly rising to his feet and offering a hand to the large blonde.

“They’d likely leave me out as bait,” the bespeckled boy remarked, a scoff in his voice, “Besides, they wouldn’t care.”

That bit was the last thing Tom wanted to hear and wondered if it was his place to interfere. Albus likely knew of the lack of love lost between Potter and his relatives, but he was still, by force, it seemed. Making a decision he looked to the blonde again. “Your cousin witnessed a young man murdered in cold blood as well as a very powerful dark wizard return from death itself and still managed to escape with his life. There are those that would see him dead.”

If the blonde had been pale before, now it looked like death had certainly claimed him, or at the very least that he might get ill.

Harry let out a grumble of irritation, but Tom ignored it and nodded towards Number Four, catching Harry’s eyes with his own. “Shall we deposit your cousin and fetch your things, then?”

Harry paused, looking from him to Dudley and back again, and then nodded, loping his cousin’s meaty arm over his narrow shoulders and helping tug him along to the house.

“We probably shouldn’t mentions the ah- you know, to my aunt and uncle,” Harry said quietly, looking at his cousin.

“Why?” Tom asked cautious as they took the short walk back to Number Four, the lights on and glowing brightly. The warm muggy air did nothing for the chill that had come over Tom and he rubbed his arms absent mindedly.

“I’m not feeling too good,” the cousin said quietly and they paused, but the blonde shook his head. Harry was giving his cousin a confused look and Tom felt a sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched the pair.

“No, I, I started to feel sick as we came back, and you… helped me…” he trailed off and looked away from Potter, as though he was embarrassed or some such nonsense, but Tom was fairly certain he had some idea of the home life of Harry Potter.

“You sure?” Potter asked his cousin with slight disbelief.

The cousin nodded slowly and Tom followed behind by a meter or so. No doubt Potter was confused, and he wondered if he would hold his questions until once they were back at Grimmauld Place. As they approached the doors he fumbled for the crinkled paper he’d gotten from Sirius, which had been written by Dumbledore for Remus when he’d first been let into the Fidelius Charm. He’d need to have Potter read it before they apparated, though Remus had told him Potter likely had never participated in sidelong apparition.

He approached the steps of the front door and paused as Potter looked back to him. “I’ll just grab my stuff and be back down.”

Tom raised a brow. “I was not aware you were already packed, Mr. Potter.”

Harry seemed to flush and gave a shrug, dipping his head in that submissive manner that made Tom want to throw things at the boy’s aunt and uncle and then at Albus for good measure. “It’ll only take me a minute.”

Rolling his eyes, Tom grabbed the boy’s shoulder and pushed him towards the door. “Come, I can use magic to pack. You cannot.”

This seemed to make a certain amount of sense to the boy, because he didn’t argue with him further, letting him into the house. The inside of Number Four was as pristine as its lawn, not a picture out of place, all the furniture new, looking like it had never been sat on. He could hear noise from either a radio or television from the back of the house, as well as some voices that probably belonged to Potter’s aunt and uncle. Both cousins however took to the stairs, silently parting at the top, not even looking back at the other as they opened their separate bedroom doors. Potter’s room was small and dishevelled like he’d never really made it his own, the only furniture made from a small child’s dresser, a nightstand, a bed and a bookshelf that was made entirely of garden blocks and planks of food. From the furniture in the house he knew the family likely disliked the boy and suddenly had the paternal urge to draw him into a sharp hug. No doubt Potter would rather curse him than be on the receiving end of such an affection, but he still felt for the boy. They were similar in many ways, it seemed.

After the boy unlatched his trunk, revealing it to be half filled with his books and school supplies. Drawing his wand once more, Tom gave a few lazy flicks, drawing the dresser drawers open and moving and folding the clothes neatly into the trunk while simultaneously straightening the mess within the trunk. Potter went about drawing some of his items he wished to take with him into a pile and Tom continued on packing quietly. The pair finished in only a few moments and the elder of the pair waited by the door to the bedroom with the trunk while Potter collected his owl.

“Should we inform your aunt and uncle we are leaving?” Tom asked and the look on Harry’s face reminded him he likely did not know that Remus and he had been by the house before finding him. “I already spoke with your aunt earlier about whisking you off for the rest of the summer.”

“Oh, er, right then,” He said, bustling past him down the stairs, placing the cage by the front door, which was still ajar from their entrance. Tom waited, knowing it would likely be easier for the lad to simply inform them he was going and then make their escape. Instead he simply grabbed the cage and began to pull the trunk outside, wishing that Potter’s family didn’t live in such a muggle place so he could simply levitate the damned thing. The owl ruffled her feathers indignantly as she was jostled about and he cooed in a comforting tone to her as he made his way to the sidewalk.

Remus appeared to have lost Mrs. Figg, for which he was thankful, and was waiting only a few steps from the front door, looking like he was debating knocking. Placing the trunk down onto the lawn with a thud, Tom regarded the large snowy owl. She’d been sent with messages to Grimmauld place, he knew, so he had little doubt she’d be able to find it again. Remus seemed to know what he was thinking because he opened the latch to the cage and told her to head off towards Sirius. The owl gave Remus an affectionate nip before launching herself into the sky.

“Are we going to the Burrow?” Harry asked and the elder wizard turned and found that Harry had made it out of the house without incident and was carefully shutting the front door.

Remus shook his head, “Not exactly, somewhere slightly more secure. You’ve never apparated before, have you Harry?”

Harry shook his head and Remus launched into a long and unnecessary explanation of what sidelong apparition was like and he wondered if perhaps he should simply leave the pair. Knowing that with his luck the dementors would likely show back up and the two would get killed and he’d be to blame, so he decided to bare with it, giving Remus the hardest “hurry it along” glare he could muster.

“Remus, just grab the boy and please get a move on,” Tom finally interrupted and Harry gave him a weak smile.

Remus, rather than being put off, gave an indulgent smile and wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulder before disappearing with a loud crack, wherein he quickly followed suit.


	7. Battling the Dark Lord

_One did not simply go around pretending to be a Dark Lord. People got tortured and then killed for such stunts. There was only one Dark Lord and it was he. He hadn’t been able to summon Severus since the week before because that fool Dumbledore believed the man to be doing something useful for the Order, as though Severus would ever truly be loyal to such a lost cause._

_No, rather it was Gibbon who had reported the news to him. The dementors, while not sent by him, had been a pleasant surprise. Clearly someone in the Ministry was having a bit of fun at Potter’s expense and that was all fine by him. But two men showed up to help the boy, which was unfortunate. One was the blood traitor werewolf who treated the Potter boy like he was his own, but the second his minion had not recognized, and thus opened his mind to allow his master to see._

_What he’d seen had grounded him. He’d been confused at first, wondering what he was watching but within seconds it was clear this was him, and somehow he was standing there with the werewolf, the Potter brat, and a muggle and a squib, if the first two weren’t bad enough on their own. He’d cruicoed Gibbon for good measure and then set his followers out, leaving him alone with his thoughts._

_Voldemort wasn’t stupid. A bit power mad, yes, but he took pride in his ambitions, and his determination to succeed. Who else could claim they had defeated death itself, and while those thirteen years living in host had been unpleasant and bothersome, he was still back in the flesh and he knew of no wizard who could claim the same feat. There was the slightest possibility that this man just happened to look identical to how he had appeared as a normal mortal being, but he truly doubted it would be that simple. Also there was the sight of the snake patronus that lended the idea some credibility. But, if this man was Tom Riddle, then how? Magic wasn’t absolute so there could be any number of explanations, each one more ludicrous than the first. Was it possible one of his horcruxes had inhabited another body? This was quickly dismissed because he doubted that any of the fragments of his soul would stoop to assisting the mudbloods and blood traitors._

_The idea of a twin or relative of some kind were also quickly dismissed, and the idea that some how a past version of himself had come forward in time was ignored due to the apparent aging from the lines in his face and the streaks of silver in his hair. An alternate universe, perhaps, but that begged the question as to how he got here because if there was a door then there must be a way to get into his world and Voldemort then wondered about other worlds._

_Despite the fact that he was a master legilimens, he had never attempted to breach someone’s mind he’s never encountered first hand before. He was the greatest wizard of his time though and given they were the same man occupying a single universe, he figured it best not to doubt his own prowess._

_Taking a seat, Nagini gently wrapping herself around one of his legs and with the comfort of his familiar and horcrux so close, he cleared his mind._

* * *

 

When Tom turned he caught sight of Harry and Remus, passing the crumbled piece of paper to the man for the boy to read. Not bothering to wait around, his patience for the night beginning to wane, he heaved the trunk and trudged up to the door and opened it carefully as to not awaken Walburga Black and slipped inside. A headache was forming in his temples and the back of his skull, but he chose to ignore it, instead finally levitating the trunk to the feet of the old staircase, not certain which room the boy would take. Tom had opted to take one of the less than comfortable couches given that the Weasley family plus Miss Granger needed the guest rooms more than he. Perhaps Harry would join the three Weasley boys.

Leaning heavily on the bannister, Tom wiped a hand over his face, the pain in his head increasing exponentially.

“You alright?” He heard someone, though he couldn’t really tell who exactly, ask him and he began to shake his head in response, but suddenly hissed out in pain, his legs going slightly numb. He managed to catch himself on the bannister and someone was there beside him, grabbing his arm and trying to tug him along somewhere.

“What’s happening?” Someone distinctly feminine asked. Probably Molly. Merlin, why did it hurt to open his eyes? Something was distinctly off and if he hadn’t practiced occlumency for years, he likely wouldn’t have noticed the sharp probe along his mind.

“Sommun’s using legi’mency,” he slurred, leaning into whoever was dragging him along. He needed to not worry about his body, given he had enough faith that he wouldn’t have his head chopped off by chance in Grimmauld Place. What was under attack was his mind and instead of trying to throw up more defences, he lashed out blindly, intending to strike back at his attacker. They anticipated it though and he could feel the memories being tossed aside in his head as they were rifled through.

He could feel a slight pain in his knees and he realized he was being lowered to the ground. Crap, just that bit, he could feel them there in his head and instead he rushed his barriers, hoping to pin the intruder or to at least delay them so they might reveal their identity.

_Weak. Pathetic._

Roaring in frustration he could feel it, almost like he was actually grasping at the robes of another and suddenly there were a large pair of red slitted eyes. If Tom had been in any less of a rage at this breach of his mind, he might have let go in shock. Sure, he’d seen Albus’s memories, seen the kind of man he had become in this world. But this wasn’t a person.

This was a monster. A few stronger pushes and the barriers of their minds were crumbling, something Tom had never experienced himself in a battle of the mind, but they were a special circumstance, were they not? Who else had ever been able to battle their own mind in such a fashion? Memories, both ones that looks like his and ones that were clearly not his own were surging back and forth between them. There, that was the Chamber, but Ginevra Weasley was laying dead on the floor, and there in another he watched Avery, Goban Avery, his bloody friend, torturing his own friends.

_They are not friends! They are servants!_

Luckily though, while Tom was being overwhelmed by Voldemort’s memories, it seemed his were having the same effect on the demon-like being he had some how become. The connection was breaking and neither bothered to try and stop the other’s retreat, instead both choosing to throw all their might into their barriers again.

* * *

 

There’s that moment between dreaming and awake, where you feel distinctly at peace, where what your brain knows about the present doesn’t seem to truly matter quite so much as what your heart feels to be true. In that dream-like state Tom wondered how he’d come to fall asleep on the couch, and who had draped a blanket over him. He could hear movement in the kitchen and he wondered if Lilith had let herself in. He heard a wood step creak and half expected Sofie to launch herself upon him, but there was no such movement.

It was the little things that pulled him out slowly. The smells, the sounds, the feel of the scratchy blanket with dark colors that he didn’t recognize as being his own, or the sight of a couch that was not his. No longer dreaming, he was awake, and he remembered where he was and what he was doing, though he still wondered how he had come to lay on the couch. The dreamstate gone, he could feel the throb of a leftover migraine and wondered vaguely who had pulled away from whom first, which version of Tom Riddle Junior had succumbed to the others memories. It was like a bad movie arranged in random bits in pieces and he hoped that bastard’s head was aching ten times the amount his was.

“Y’sure he’s not dead?” Someone said quietly and Tom’s eyes finally fluttered open fully, straining to listening over the roaring in his ears.

“Honestly Ron, he’s breathing isn’t he?” He heard Miss Granger reply in an exasperated tone.

“Just leave him alone, he had a long night.” Tom was certain that was Harry. Giving a loud groan he stretched slowly and rolled over off his back and slid his feet to the floor. He was still in the clothes he’d been wearing the night before, but he felt distinctly vulnerable, what with having his mind been having raped and all. He reached for the thin blanket and wrapped it around himself tightly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Professor Riddle?”

Looking up Tom caught sight of Miss Granger, Hermione, holding a mug with what appeared to be steeping tea. He took it grateful and held it in his hands, the warmth spreading quickly through arms.

“Thank you. What time is it?” He asked, his voice sounding a bit haggard and his tongue feeling like sandpaper.

A crack sounded behind him quite suddenly and startled, he dropped the mug, the tea splattering all over him and the couch, the mug breaking and shattering across the floor. He hands held apart in a shocked state he tried to keep his head from exploding and from having a panic attack.

“Nearly one thirty mate.” The bastard behind him said cheerfully and he turned slowly to glare at the Weasley twins, quite ready to strangle the pair and then deduct two hundred points from Gryffindor.

Hermione was scolding them loudly and he squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing the lump in his throat and steadying his breathing.

“Sorry about that,” the other twin said equally cheery, with a shit-eating grin on his face, drawing a wand and repairing the mug and cleaning the mess.

Tom irritably pulled the blanket over his shoulders again and turned to Harry and Hermione, who he was much less annoyed with, “What happened after I passed out?”

While Harry looked to the side, like he was uncomfortable with it all, Hermione explained it in the precise and efficient manner he remembered of her. “You were semi-conscious, we think, because your eyes would flicker and sometimes you’d mumble and stir, but by the time Sirius and Mrs. Weasley got you to the couch you were flailing.”

“And then the Order had a meeting,” Ron said with a shrug and Hermione elbowed him. “Ow! What was that for?”

“What was the meeting about?” Tom asked tiredly, not awake nor calm enough to deal with the bickering.

“Harrykins,” one of the twins answered.

“Well, at least the end bit was.” The other admitted.

“Mum won’t let us sit in.”

“Even though we’re of age.”

“Bit Barmy of her really.”

“Please,” Tom said, holding up a hand, “Stop doing that. You’re making my head hurt worse than it already is.”

“Anyways,” Hermione said, glaring at the twins, “there was a bit of a disagreement regarding what we should and shouldn’t be allowed to know, especially Harry because he’s the one Voldemort-” she was interrupted by a loud cough from Ron and she elbowed him again and continued on, “-Is after.”

An image flashed through his head, the quick vision he’d seen from Voldemort paired with the description Albus had given him. Harry had survived the killing curse due to love, which Albus believed Voldemort could not understand. Which of course made Harry his focal point of destruction.

“And what did they explain then?” He asked.

“Basically that I messed up his plans last year by surviving and telling people he’s come back and now he’s back to hiding and plotting,” Harry said with a grim smile. “And that this is one giant game to get everyone to believe Dumbledore and not the Ministry.”

“Also the bit about Fudge being afraid that Dumbledore is building up his own personal army,” Ron added.

“Good God he’s mad,” Tom said, rubbing his forehead.

“And someone’s trying to pin the magic done in Surrey last night on Harry, but no one thinks it’s going to work.” Hermione said.

Tom snorted in an undignified manner, not truly caring very much what the students would think of him. He’d once been a proper fellow, having been brought up surrounded by the traditions that came with being a part of Slytherin house, but after raising a daughter with enough spirit for the whole of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff combined, he’d mellowed quite a bit. There was also the fact that in this world he’d turned out to be a complete mad man, so anything that reminded the people around him that he was in fact a normal human being was for the best.

“They can try, but to my knowledge I’m the only one who cast any spells.” He said in an annoyed tone, slowly pushing himself to his feet. “It’s insane how incompetent this Ministry is.”

“Yours is better?” Hermione asked with interest. Of course he should have known it would be her who would be interested in this sort of matter.

Tom nodded, walking towards the hall that led to the kitchen. “I’m sure I could find something inane to complain about, but yours sounds like an absolute circus.”

“Ah, he awakens!” Sirius said cheerily from the table in the kitchen and Tom gave a grunt as he sat. “What’s this I hear about circuses?”

“Ministry,” Tom said, to which Sirius nodded in understanding and slid the elder man a plate that contained several sandwiches. “Molly put these together, you should probably eat something or she’ll start in on you.”

The Weasley clan, minus Ginevra and Molly, but including Hermione and Harry, joined him and Sirius at the table, each grabbing a sandwich or something or other Molly must have whipped up. There was only a few moments during the assembly of lunch plates of silence, which Tom was grateful for. His mind was unusually blank, still numb and aching from the scramble of the night before, and he was content to try to nibble slowly on the corned beef sandwich and sip at a new mug of tea, this one without any sugar. There were the sneaked glances from the Weasley brothers, but he ignored them and Hermione disappeared out of the kitchen with a few plates, likely to bring them to the rest of the Weasleys. Harry, he realized, was silent, but seemed to be staring at the opposing wall, lost in thought.

Clearing his throat, he drew the attention of the occupants of the kitchen, Mr. Potter included. “Last night I was planning to introduce myself once we’d gotten back to Grimmauld Place, but alas,” he trailed off and gestured ambiguously with his hands.

“Sirius and Remus explained most of it to me,” Harry said with a shrug.

Despite the easy dismissal from the young boy, Tom felt off put. In this world he’d not only orphaned the boy to live with muggles who disliked him, but also attacked him and his friends on several different occasions, as well as killed a schoolmate in front of the boy in cold blood. Or had he ordered him killed? He couldn’t quite keep all the memories he’d been shown or seen straight anymore, what with a mixture of Albus’s third hand knowledge and the garbled memories he’d received from his counterpart. Either this boy placed far too much faith in others, or he was hiding his true feelings. The latter seemed the most likely, as the Mr. Potter Tom knew had a very bad poker face.

“I would like to hear your thoughts on me, Mr. Potter.” Tom urged quietly.

Harry simply shrugged once more, before looking off at the wall again, “Well, like I said, Sirius and Remus explained it, and Dumbledore trusts you, so you can’t be much like Voldemort.”

“You place a lot of trust in a man who has been keeping you locked up with your muggle relatives when you could be staying with your godfather,” he mused, watching for a reaction.

Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t the sad look in Harry’s eyes. Tom was reminded again of a soldier, something that was inappropriate in a boy so young. “Dumbledore does what he thinks is best.”

“And what do you think is best?” Tom pressed, ignoring the look exchanged between Sirius and the twins.

“Stopping Voldemort, I suppose.” There, that was all the boy appeared to want to say on the matter. It infuriated Tom.

“Yes, but how, boy?” He demanded, leaning over the table slightly, closer towards the boy who seemed remarkably unafraid of him.

“I…” `He was finally looking a little flustered. Good. “I dunno. He’s always found a way to me, I guess. I just need to train, get ready to face him and try to stop him once and for all, before he hurts anyone else.”

“Why does it have to be you?” Tom encouraged, “What about Dumbledore and the Order? Surely they’d have a better chance than a fourteen year old boy?”

“Fifteen,” Harry correct and shrugged. Had Mr. Potter always shrugged like this, or was it just this one? He couldn’t remember for the life of him.

“Fifteen then,” he conceded.

“I don’t know, but he always comes after me in the end. Maybe that’s why they want you around as the defense professor. You seem like a good option to off him.”

“How do you know I won’t just turn on you all and join up with him?” Tom demanded again. “And don’t say because Albus trusts me or I’ll throw this mug at you.”

Harry grinned stupidly at the threat and Tom narrowed his eyes, wondering how the teenager could be so calm about all this. “Because you fought him off last night.”

“I-what?” Tom started then stopped, his mouth opening and closing, with no sound coming out, staring hard at the boy. Was Potter a seer? No, seers didn’t like that, what was it called? Telekinesis? No, telepathy.

“Sometimes Voldemort and I can see each other, things that are happening. Last night I could see you both. It was like you were fighting each other and there was a lot of… images… it was confusing but you didn’t seem ready to side with him.” Harry explained.

“You’re still having those dreams?” Ron asked, and when Harry nodded he shook his head. “Don’t let Hermione hear you or she’ll go off about it again.”

“Wait, wait, you mean you saw us fighting? How, it wasn’t a physical fight or, I can’t even describe what it might have looked like…” Tom was out of his league. No one had mentioned that the boy had a link to Voldemort. A literal link. Not some metaphorical nonsensical bullshit, but an actual mental and likely physical link. “How long have you been able to see into his mind?”

Harry shrugged again, clearly uncomfortable, but answered all the same. “Since last year, after Wormtail found him. Wormtail’s one of his followers. I guess they found each other and began working on something to bring him back. I could see things through his eyes.”

“And last night? What exactly did you see?”

“Well, he was angry, so not much of it made sense,” he trailed off, probably recalling the events.” He wanted to know who you were and when you started fighting back it was like, a bit like being in a punching bag. I thought it might have been a real fight, but then there was images, and little bits here and there. I could see most of what he saw…”

“And how much did he see?” He asked quietly, not really caring how ridiculous this conversation sounded, nor the fact that they had an audience.

“A good bit. He thinks you’re weak.”

Letting out a slight laugh he shook his head. “Weak? Yes because torturing people and trying to take over the wizarding world is so much better than the life I led.”

The silence was deafening and the Weasleys clearly didn’t know what to say, so Sirius began gathering up the lunch plates and bringing them to a sink. He waited until Black and the Weasley twins left off to do whatever before he rose, stepping out of the kitchen and heading towards where he believed the library to be.

 

 


	8. Harry's Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of people have asked for Harry's viewpoint and while this isn't necessarily going to be a Harry-centric story, since he's a major player of the game his input will pop in occasionally, especially after certain events. Also, because this was a last minute add-in, I decided I didn't have the patience to try and re-write most of the Grimmauld scenes. Riddle spent most of the month of August in the library and generally out of everyone's way, so most of the scenes weren't effected by his appearance. I have also had two offers to be my beta but I am waiting to hear back from them again so hopefully soon I'll have one. Expect another chapter soon, I'm already half way done with it.

Dumbledore had a track record of picking pretty shitty allies. Harry was still fairly certain Snape wasn’t really on their side and had a hard time putting the headmaster’s faith in the Potions Master when he was fairly certain Snape would dance on his grave should Voldemort manage to kill him. Whoever this Riddle fellow was though, he made a better first impression than Snape had. He’d even sent Harry and Dudley off with Remus and fended off the dementors, but that could easily be explained away if he was working with Voldemort, or worse, was Voldemort.

Remus and Sirius seem to have a bit of faith in the man though, and that lended enough credit for him not to attack him right off, at least for the time being. Then Riddle’s little fainting bit happened and he wasn’t really quite sure what to think of it, but it was quickly put out of his mind by the rest of the events that followed. He was ushered upstairs because apparently there was to be an Order meeting and they weren’t to attend because they weren’t of age and Riddle was twitching a bit violent on the couch and Mrs. Weasley was worried he was going to roll right off and onto the floor.

And he’d had enough pent up anger and stress from being stuck to rot at the Dursleys for two months that he may have blown up at Hermione and Ron and he felt like a bit of a git but he’d felt better after letting it all out. Somehow he was still a little envious of the fact that they’d gotten to be at Grimmauld Place over a week longer than he.

That night at dinner, he fought for the truth, but even then he knew there was a lot of stuff that Sirius wasn’t telling him and he hated it that even though he was the person who was at the center of it all they were still holding back from him. Like he hadn’t seen Voldemort kill a man. Had they watched him rise from a cauldron with that horrible snake-like face, had they been attacked by some mad wizard posing at their Defense professor? Keeping him in the dark wasn’t going to fix anything, and yet they were still doing it. But they did tell him about the weapon at the Ministry, and about how Fudge believed Dumbledore was trying to brainwash people and raise an army.

But the bit that he learned about Riddle was completely insane. Tom from another world where he wasn’t crazy and a loving father and teacher at Hogwarts. It was far-fetched, but even Mrs. Weasley seemed to put stock in it, so he held his objections. He wasn’t going to trust him, that would be quite stupid of him, given who it was. But he wasn’t going to try and curse the bloke just yet. That all changed though when he went to sleep.

He’d been dreaming, though it was more a nightmare than a dream, the same nightmare he’d had so many times that summer, that night at the graveyard. Grabbing his wand and the duel and Cedric and-

But this was different. It was dark, but not like the graveyard had been dark, lit by the stars and the moon and the nearby village’s lights. No this was near pitch black and the lights that flashed weren’t lights but… he might have thought perhaps he was in a movie theater of some kind, but the clips, the things he was see, they were all around the fury he felt. He knew that fury, and it wasn’t his own. He, Voldemort, was fighting someone tooth and nail, both a silent battle of the mind, which he could feel, and a physical fight, punching and lashing out it was like their minds were moving as bodies might.

But they were fighting Riddle and where he felt fury and disdain from Voldemort, he felt fury and desperation from Riddle. It became clear very quickly that Voldemort had little idea what or who this man was, and he was planning to rip him apart brick by brick, memory by memory to understand him.

Riddle was fighting back but was on the defensive, trying more to keep the bits and pieces of himself interlocked and together, but whatever was happening, whatever Harry was witnessing, neither of them were trying to do it, it just felt like it was all falling down on them. Harry wasn’t quite certain what Riddle was going through, but he could tell whatever Voldemort had done to Riddle, he clearly hadn’t anticipated this results. Shock, and just the slightest bit of confusion seemed to leak through the rage and Harry tried to catch the surge of raw emotions that came with the barrage of memories.

Riddle's memories, because Harry was certain the man he was seeing could not be Voldemort. The compassion and righteous fury that emanated from the man as he tried to rebuild his defenses reminded him a bit of Dumbledore. It felt like hours were managing to squeeze into seconds and he wasn’t certain how, but Harry finally wrenched himself free from the horrible dream. Only it wasn’t a dream. As he sat there, drenched in a cold sweat, his breathing haggard like he’d just run a marathon, he was certain of it.

Then the next day came and he honestly felt a bit bad for the man. Riddle. Tom, professor, whatever he was supposed to call him. Ginny admitted he didn’t seem like too bad of a bloke, which was tall praise coming from her, according to Hermione. When he finally did wake up, he didn’t snap or try to curse the twins when they startled them, he didn’t yell or insult Hermione for being a muggleborn, and he seemed genuinely interested in what Harry thought of him. Harry almost felt sheepish for having his doubts about the man, but there was still that nagging feel that he knew Ginny likely still felt. That face, so familiar from the two, almost three years before when he’d met the teenage Tom in the Chamber of Secrets.

It was hard to look past the face, but he promised himself he’d try. As long as he didn’t pick up after Snape and start in on him at Hogwarts. The trust continued to build slowly but surely. Since the night of his arrival at Grimmauld Place, when Voldemort tried to raid Riddle’s mind, the man had basically shut himself up in the library, where Mrs. Weasley claimed he was working on lesson plans, given he was taking over as the Defense professor and he’d have to do a bunch of remedial things to make sure they were caught up, given their track record of bad professors, Remus excluded.

Ron claimed he was just trying to get out of cleaning, but Hermione reminded him he was likely both homesick and a bit embarrassed. Not only did no one know him here, but the few people that did related him to a mass murdering Dark Lord.

The rest of that month was spent clearing out various rooms in Grimmauld Place and spending time with his Godfather before heading off to school again. It was nice to be around the closest figures he had to parents, what with Mrs. Weasley and Remus and Sirius around fairly consistently. He spent time helping Sirius feed Buckbeak, who apparently was housed up in Sirius’s mother’s old room, and listening to the twins rant and rave about Percy, who apparently claimed that were all nutters and had sided with the Ministry. While Harry had never been particularly fond of Percy, he could see how much it hurt the Weasleys, from the anger that the brother’s felt, Bill included, when he stopped by, to the bouts of weepiness that came from Mrs. Weasley.

By far the only thing that brought him down that month, besides a few run ins with the resident house elf, Kreacher, was an article that ran that claimed he had made up the Dementor sighting for attention. It was quickly burned by Sirius and tossed in the rubbish bin.

Despite its deplorable living conditions, harry was coming to find himself quite attached to Grimmauld Place, or perhaps it was just the people within it, but at least once a week he’d see different members of the Order stop by. He was a little frustrated that Dumbledore had yet to make an appearance but everyone assured him it was because he was very busy. It was also very interesting watching Riddle interact with the members of the Order, from the gentle teasing attitude he gave to Hagrid and Tonks, to the irritated scoldings he seemed to aim at Snape whenever he was around. While he didn’t talk much about the place he came from, Harry did manage to to ask him about his parents. He hated that sad smile that passed his lips, but the life he talked about sounded so foreign, but at least he knew in some other world Lily and James Potter were alive and well and happy, and for some reason that offered him a bit of peace.

And then the holidays slowly came to an end, and despite the madness of the Prophet, and the business with Riddle and Voldemort, Harry found himself very glad to be heading back to Hogwarts. It was after all, his first home.

 

 


	9. Prefects & Boggarts

_“I think you’re taking this job a bit too serious, mate.”_

_Tom didn’t even look up from the papers he’d received from Professor Merryweather as Theon entered his study, rapping lightly on the open door belatedly to announce his arrival before making himself comfortable in the other chair by the fire._

_“It’s quite maddening,” Tom admitted, holding one of the papers aloft to compare it to another, “I’m going to have to juggle ten, eleven, twelve classes-”_

_“But there’s only,” Mulciber interrupted before pausing and then nodded after redoing the math in his head, “oh wait, yeah, two classes per year.”_

_“Plus the combined sixth and seventh year classes. Plus I’m going to have to know essentially all the students by face and name and what houses and years they’re in- for Merlin’s beard why did I apply for this job again?” Tom asked quietly, resting his forehead in the palm of one of his hands._

_“I believe it was something along the lines of ‘I’m a bloody masochist who finds a ministry job unfulfilling’ or some such nonsense, though you shouldn’t really asking me because I’m best friends with a mad man.” He tossed a rolled up copy of the Prophet at Tom and it bounced off his leg, landing on the floor of the study._

_“What’s this?” Tom asking, leaning over and grabbing the paper, unfurling it slowly._

_“Not front page worthy I suppose, but there you are on page six, grinning like the sly fox you are, ‘England’s most eligible bachelor taking teaching position-’”_

_“It does not,” Tom scoffed loudly as he came to the page. “Here it is, ‘Tom Riddle, only known descendant of renowned wizard Salazar Slytherin, has been accepted for the job of professor of the Defense Against the Dark Arts class at Great Britain’s Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While some have argued that a family with strong ties to the dark arts should be kept well away from such an influential position, others remember the daring rescue and the kind hearted boy who stood against a terrorist in the attack on Hogsmeade, the town located just outside the school, in 1944-’” Tom folded the paper and looked over it at Theon, “Are they going to blather on about that the whole article?” He asked in exasperation._

_Mulciber was tossing his rememberall up and down, catching it in a bored fashion and shrugged, “There’s a decent bit in that second to last paragraph.”_

_Tom skimmed until he found it and continued reading aloud, “‘While there is no question as to whether Professor Riddle is capable for the job, there is speculation that Professor Riddle, given his heritage, may take the reigns of Slytherin House out from under the residing Potions Professor, Horace Slughorn, who is certainly not getting any-’” He stopped and folded the paper again, “What?”_

_“Apparently there’s a betting poll at the Hog’s Head as to how long it’ll take you to take over as Head of Slytherin and replace old Sluggy,” Theon said in amusement. “Also there’s another bit in there about how taking on the position has essentially killed any potential of having a social life and how the journalist mourns your chances at finding a proper wife.”_

_Tom threw back the paper to his friend and shook his head. “Honestly, the lot of you have nothing better to do, I swear.”_

_“Well what am I supposed to do now?” Theon whined loudly, kicking one of his legs over the arm of the chair and sinking lower into the cushions, “Father’s pestering about marrying that Crabbe girl again and goodness knows they won’t shut up about it and she’s not that bad about the yapping but who am I going to rant to when you’re off being a dutiful teacher, I ask you? Antonin has his little demon on the way already and Avery might as well be in hiding for all that I see of him.”_

_“I won’t be on the other side of the world you twat,” Tom said with a smirk, “You can write or floo. And even better, I can visit you. I’m not going to be a student bound by requirements to the school.”_

_“Oh, I didn’t even think about that,” Theon said with a smirk, sitting up in the chair “So if my mother somehow pushed this wedding for next spring you’ll be sure to make it.”_

_“I’ll cancel classes if I must,” Tom promised, turning back to the folders full of lesson plans he was going through._

_“Excellent, I’ll be holding you to that. Be glad you don’t have someone breathing down your neck demanding grandchildren from you,” Theon said in an annoyed voice. Tom chuckled and ducked when he heard the man throw something in his general direction._

* * *

 

Tom spent the month between the rescue of Potter from Surrey and the start of the school term finishing up his lesson plans and nipping to Hogwarts to try and organize his rooms. Instead of trying to replicate his room in the dungeons that he held as the Head of Slytherin, he’d made the room resemble his old room he’d resided in before he’d been offered the Head of House position. It was nostalgic and comfortable, but it still irritated him that Severus was the Head. He wasn’t mad at the man, per say, but to him, Slytherin house was his home and the children within it as good as his own. He missed them, and would miss sitting in the common room with his students, or tutoring them, or lending a shoulder to a first year who was homesick.

It was too quiet at Hogwarts, and he often would sit in the kitchen as the month came to its end, listening to the bustle of the Weasley clan, even offering a few questions Harry posed to him about the Potters of his world.

He expected to see longing in the boy’s eyes when he described the family, but instead he just say happiness, and Tom was once again overwhelmed with the urge to hug the young man.

It was the day before the start of term that he sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld for the final time, or at least for a decent amount of time, given if he couldn’t find a way home during the school year he’d likely come back the following summer. He was sipping tea with Remus and Sirius and watched with amusement at the bustle of the family, their hogwarts letters only just having arrived.

Considerably late, but no doubt Albus and Minerva were occupied. Of course this would make Diagon Alley a death trap of every wizarding family in Britain and he shuddered at the thought.

“Oye, finally!” Ron exclaimed, grabbing the letters up and sprinting from the room, likely

off to deliver them to their respective student.

“Ready to take on Hogwarts?” Remus asked curiously and Tom shrugged. The building apprehension in his stomach was reminiscent of the first year he’d taught, when he’d been a much younger man and worried about his age affecting his teaching. He’d only been in his twenties. But now it was more seeing all those familiar faces, and learning how their lives may or may not have changed based on what he’d done with his life. It was worrisome, to say the least.

“Well, from what you said I’ll have my work cut out for me, so I shouldn’t have too much free time on my hands,” he said, taking another sip.

Suddenly a loud noise, followed by a few more shots of exclamation came from the rooms above them and he three men looked towards the ceiling in confusion, as though waiting for an answer.  All that responded was some more jumbled raised voices and Tom shrugged.

It only became apparent what the commotion from upstairs had been when the teenagers emerged, scouring the house for any books or clothes, and the like that had escaped from their rooms, trying to make a decent packing job. Hermione was the one who mentioned it to Remus quietly when the man noted how subdued Ron and Harry were acting.

Tom was a little surprised that Ron had been chosen as prefect, but congratulated the man all the same and offered a smile at Harry. No doubt Potter felt down about being picked over for his friend, it was only natural, but he was encouraged to see that harry didn’t seem to be treating Ron with any irritation. Molly had nipped off to Diagon Alley with the students’ lists to do their shopping on her own, likely thinking the same thing as he about how crowded it was likely to be.

When the red headed woman stepped through the doors he took several of the bags from her before she toppled over and watched as Ron took a package that looked like a broom from her, thanking his mother several times before running off to store it in his trunk.

“Arthur and I always give them a present if they make prefect,” Molly explained and he nodded in understanding, following her towards the kitchen. “Did Sirius and Remus get dinner on just fine?” She asked.

Tom almost answered but winced as the front door could be heard swinging shut, followed by the loud shouts of Walburga Black. Molly shook her head and unfurled a scarlet banner, spelling the words “CONGRATULATIONS RON AND HERMIONE — NEW PREFECTS” in bright gold.

“Ah, there you are, I thought we’d have a little party, not a sit-down dinner,” she told Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny as they entered the room, followed by Alastor, Tonk and Shacklebolt. “Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron, I’ve sent them both owls and they’re thrilled,” she added, beaming.

Tom watched at the twins rolled their eyes and recalled that they were the only of the Weasley family who hadn’t been made prefects. While the pair tended to not worry about such things, he could tell the way their mother carried on was a bit hurtful to them.

As the group began passing round some butterbeers, Molly turned to address Alastor, who was shrugging off his travelling coat onto one of the chairs in the kitchen. “Oh, Alastor, I am glad you’re here, we’ve been wanting to ask you for ages — could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what’s inside it? We haven’t wanted to open it just in case it’s something really nasty.”

“No problem, Molly …” The eyes in question still sent slight shivers up Tom’s spine, but it appeared useful in its abilities to see through walls and the like. It swiveled upward and stared fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen in the direction Tom could only assume said desk was in.

“Drawing room …” he growled, as the pupil contracted. “Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it. … Yeah, it’s a boggart. … Want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?”

“No, no, I’ll do it myself later,” beamed Mrs. Weasley. “You have your drink. We’re having a little bit of a celebration, actually. …” She gestured at the scarlet banner. “Fourth prefect in the family!” she said fondly, ruffling Ron’s hair.

“Prefect, eh? Well, congratulations,” said Moody, “Authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn’t have appointed you. …”

Tom smirked at Ron’s startled look, glancing back to Harry who shrugged. It was then that Arthur Weasley and his oldest son, Bill, arrived. He’d only seen Bill at the house once or twice for Order meetings. He seemed to be the same as Tom remembered him, an easy going young man and a natural leader, each of his siblings looking up to him with adoration and sibling affection. Mrs. Weasley was in such a good mood she did not even complain that they had brought Mundungus with them too, the man who was to suppose to have been guarding Harry the night the dementors attacked. He couldn’t quite match the man to a student and wondered if he’d been one of the few wizards in great Britain who’d been home schooled.

“Well, I think a toast is in order,” said Mr. Weasley, raising his goblet. “To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!”

The dinner dissolved from there into the chaos that he’d begun to associate with the occupant of Grimmauld place. Despite that everyone was either seated at the table or standing around it, everyone seemed to be breaking off into their own conversations. Tonks began telling Harry, Ginny, and Hermione about how she hadn’t been a prefect either, while Sirius joined in, throwing an arm around harry’s shoulders affectionately to tell them about how Lupin was the only one deemed mature enough to hold the position of prefect and then continued to joke with the group. Tom did as he had done the rest of the summer, sitting back and watching the groups quietly, unsure of any place he could fit in without it feeling forced. He could see Ron gushing to his older brother and Shacklebolt about his new broom he’d gotten, only to have it interrupted by Mrs. Weasley fussing over her son’s long hair.

The party continued on in this fashion and Tom watched at the twins pulled Mundungus aside for a little chat, and while part of him was curious to it, the other part knew that he had little right to interfere. While the twins were notorious headaches and pranksters, they were intelligent. When he’d taught them he’d never received an essay or a written assignment, but on projects and practical situations they excelled, well past most of the other students in the class. They were definitely brilliant, in their own way, and he knew after six years that corralling them was nigh impossible, except to perhaps their mother.

Only a few steps away he turned and smiled as Mrs. Weasley let out a wide yawn, covering her mouth to silence it. “Well, I think I’ll sort out that boggart before I turn in. … Arthur, I don’t want this lot up too late, all right? ’Night, Harry, dear.”

As she left the kitchen he caught sight of Harry staring after her, looking like he wanted to talk to her.

“You all right, Potter?” grunted Moody., to which Harry mumbled a reply. Alastor, sensing the sour mood that had followed Harry since that morning, drew him out of the kitchen. Sirius, who had been keeping a close eye on the lad, excused himself and followed shortly after.  As the numbers in the kitchen dwindled, it became even more awkward to be sitting by his lonesome, and excused himself as well, heading out of the hallway and past Alastor, Sirius and Harry, who were looking at a photo album. Harry appeared to be trying to make his escape and Tom stepped between him and the two older man, nodding.

Harry didn’t acknowledge him, however, looking both a bit lost and thought and… dumbstruck. Following the lad up the stairs towards the first landing, Tom cleared his throat and drew the attention of the fifth year. “Are you feeling alright?”

Harry paused on the last step and looked back towards him as though just only noticing him. “Oh, uh, yeah. I guess it’s just been a long day.”

“Is there something bothering you?” Tom asked, coming to stand beside the boy.

Harry shook his head. “No, Ron’s gonna be great an’ all… I’m just…” He trailed off, looking up the second set of stairs towards the room he shared with Ron. He paused though and tilted his head and Tom realized why. He could hear a muffled cry from the nearby drawing room.

Frowning, Tom led the way in, pushing the drawing room door open. The sight he was caught with, besides Molly cowering in against the wall, gasping sobs escaping her, was Ron Weasley, lying dead on the floor in front of them. Harry froze behind him with an audible gasp, while Tom whipped his wand out.

“R-r-riddikulus!’’ Mrs. Weasley hiccuped out through sobs, pointing her wand at the body of her son.

_Crack._

As Ron’s body turned into Bill’s, Tom realized what was happening and ran to stand beside Molly, grabbing her elbow, gently pulling her up off the wall.

“R-riddikulus!” she sobbed again, leaning into Tom and trying to wipe the tears from her eyes at the same time.

_Crack._

This time it was Arthur on the ground, and Tom was trying to tug Molly away. He needed the boggart to focus on him or his spell would do little to bother it. Before he could however, the boggart seemed to go into a frenzy, cycling through each of the children quickly, from the twins, to Percy, and Harry.

“Harry, take Mrs. Weasley back to the kitchen,” He instructed, as the boy hurried over to them. Turning to face the boggart head on he took a deep breath. Once his greatest fear had been Lilith or Sofie’s death, but he doubted that would be the case any more. The boggart replaced the dead body of Harry Potter with a tall looking glass, showing Lilith and Sofie and a few others mourning his disappearance, seeing them from afar.

“Riddikulus!” He said as clearly and firmly as he could. The mirror cracked in the center, slowly spreading outwards until the reflective surface had crumbled completely in on itself. As the pieces fell to the ground they dissolved into ash and disappeared in a whisp of smoke.

He could hear footsteps on the landing and turned to catch sight of Remus, Sirius, and Alastor limping slowly along behind them.

Molly was leaning into Remus now, trying to get her breathing underway and Remus patted her shoulder gently, trying to comfort her. “Molly, it was just a boggart,” he said soothingly, patting her on the head. “Just a stupid boggart …”

“I see them d-d-dead all the time!” Mrs. Weasley moaned into his shoulder. “All the t-t-time! I d-d-dream about it …”

Sirius was staring at the patch of carpet where the boggart had been, and Tom wondered if perhaps he’d caught sight of the dead Harry as he was coming up the landing. Alastor was switching his gaze between Tom and Harry, the magical eye whizzing about in its socket.

“D-d-don’t tell Arthur,” Mrs. Weasley was gulping now, mopping her eyes frantically with her cuffs. “I d-d-don’t want him to know. … Being silly …”

Suddenly Tom felt the moment was too personal, and as Harry tried to comfort Molly, he slipped slowly out of the room and down the hall. His heart was pounding and he could sense the panic attack creeping up on him again. He’d had them once or twice, since arriving in the world. Sometimes he was able to go on autopilot when he felt he was beginning to panic, just to get him through this entire ordeal.

Then he’d remember. Sometimes it was something incredibly stupid, like the scent of lavender, because that was Lilith’s favorite flower and her perfumes almost always was lavender based. Or the sight of a toy that looks close to one of Sofie’s. This time at least he knew he was justified in the panic. Bloody boggart.

Back pressed firmly against the wall, he slowly sunk down until he was crouched uncomfortably, his back crooked at a horrible angel as he tried to push his head down far enough to be between his knees. He wasn’t as agile as he used to be, becoming the old man he was. Focus on breathing.

What if he never saw them again? What if the portal never became activated again, or worse, what if it did and didn’t take him home? What if it took him somewhere else? What if it did take him home but to the wrong time? What if this Voldemort managed to kill him and- _You’re panicking and you’re useless when you panic,_ he scolded himself. Tugging at his hair he tried to banish the images his mind was coming up with and focus on breathing.

He forced the breathing slowly, in through his nose and out through his mouth until his heart beat began to slow. He was such a bloody idiot, panicking over a fucking mirror-shaped boggart.

Footsteps sounded and he looked up through his fingers at the group as they dispersed from the room. He was far enough away that they didn’t seem to notice him, save Harry, who starred in his direction for a moment longer than necessary before heading up towards his room.

He wasn’t quite sure how long he sat there. After a while his legs went numb but he didn’t dare move because he felt the moment he did he’d lose the ability to breathe. He was still panicking, he knew, but keeping from hyperventilating was his focus. The house grew quiet around him as the occupants returned to their rooms, the only one stopping to ask about him being Remus. He shrugged the younger man off and waited for the silence again before slowly rising.

He stood, waiting until the blood began circulating back into his legs and could walk without looking like a duck. He had planned to stay one more night in the place, but suddenly he couldn’t. Returning to the room he’d been keeping the few clothes he owned and toiletries in, he gathered them and slipped quietly out of the house and disappeared with a quiet crack towards the town of Hogsmeade, taking the walk up to the castle very slowly.


	10. The Sorting Hat Sings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, I took some serious liberties with this since I'm a sucker for details and I love designing schedules (I've had to before for RPs I do). Here I referenced the HPLexicon for class schedules and there was a general order for the canon times given for classes, but certain things don't make sense and apparently it isn't known what time breakfast, lunch and dinner is shown, so I made my own schedule up, based loosely off the HP Lexicon. Don't hate me. One of the most confusing things I found about Rowling's class schedules is apparently some normal classes are references as being an hour and a half long, while some double classes, such as Double Potions, is also referred to as being an hour and a half long. Since I am American, and I know our school systems differ a lot, I based it more on my college system. 
> 
> Also, since Umbridge isn't the professor, I didn't think she'd be able to come and "investigate" the school until a later date, but don't worry, she'll be along. Also, I'm not a fan of how this chapter panned out, it felt both bunched together and to stretched out, but I've been sitting on it for a couple days and I cleaned it up the best I could. I really need an active beta.

_“Oh no you don’t! Don’t you walk away from me!” Reina screeched loudly and Tom rubbed his temples as he leaned heavily against the wall of the living room._

_“You’re going to wake-” Tom started, his tones still quiet, but she butted in again, “I don’t care, this is ridiculous! I see you once every month, and don’t you dare try to tell me you floo every night, it’s not the same bloody thing! I want to go back to work!” She snapped._

_He was losing his patience and he had to breathe heavily threw his nose to keep from shouting back. “Then do it!”_

_“What about Lilith!?” She demanded hotly._

_“Leave her with your mother, leave her with my father! Bring her to the bloody school for all I care!” He snapped. “You’re the one who wanted to be home for her!”_

_“I thought you’d be around!” She yelled, picking up a pillow from the couch and throwing it at him roughly._

_“You knew I wasn’t going to give up my position!” He sneered._

_“So you’d give up your wife?” She demanded putting her hands on her hips._

_He paused and stared at her, his eyes crossing. She’d threatened to leave him and take Lilith and unfortunately more often than he’d care to admit, she’d gotten her way because of it. “Yes, because me giving up my position to work full time at the Ministry would mean I’d be home so much more often,” he drawled nastily._

_“Tom Riddle I bloody well mean it this time,” She hissed, chucking one of Lilith’s toys at him, which he caught before it could hit him in the face. “I will go back to stay with my mum!”_

_“I won’t have you using our daughter as some sort of leverage against me!” He growled, clenching his fisted and throwing the doll back to the couch. He ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes._

_“I’m not you selfish prick! I’m sick of this! Sick of you, sick of this house, sick of having to play little mommy and you only are around for the best parts of being daddy!” Her voiced hitched up in volume again and he could hear one of their owls in the kitchen fluttering its wings indignantly._

_“What do you bloody well want from me then!?” He asked._

_“I want a divorce.”_

_How calmly she said it threw him a bit and he had to literally bite his tongue to try and sort out the mess in his head. “We’ve been over this.”_

_“No, we discussed how we both agree split custody wouldn’t work for us. Just, take Lilith back to the school with you tomorrow and…” She sat down slowly on the couch and rubbed her temples. “It’s not bloody fair how much she adores you for the little bit of time she sees you and it’s driving me spare. She doesn’t behave for me, and I, I need a break.”_

_Part of him couldn’t quite believe she’d give up their daughter, but the other part wasn’t willing to question it. “So what, raise her at Hogwarts?”_

_She glared at him hard again and he rubbed his face again. “Yes.”_

_There was little else to say after that. What else was there to say? There was no love lost between the pair since the decline in their relationship over the past four years, and Reina didn’t mind moving back home to her mother and father. She’d always disliked their home in Little Hangleton, complaining about moving back to London every chance she’d had._

_No, instead of dwelling on it, he left. It was still relatively early in the evening and he went to the only place in the area he dared to go. His father’s home. Mansion, whatever it pleased the old man to call it. He’d since been set up on the floo network several years before when Tom junior had explained how it worked to him, and right then Tom much preferred to be as far from Reina as possible when he made his floo call to Dumbledore._

_Tom senior was asleep when his son let himself into the family home. They were still awkward around each other, never quite coming to the father and son relationship they both knew they should have, but rather like… cousins or family of a sort._

_Conjuring some flames in the fireplace, he tossed the powder in and called for Dumbledore quietly, the man answering in short order. Much to his surprise, the conversation wasn’t too long. Tom had never seen another professor have their family live on the campus, but he supposed it wasn’t unheard of. Dumbledore promised he’d make the accommodations to his rooms in the dungeons the following morning and Tom pulled back with a heavy sigh._

* * *

 

Tom woke up early. He was generally an early riser, but in the summer he always found himself sleeping in until eight or sometimes nine and he’d need to be up early for any morning classes Albus had given him. Emerging into the little living and dining area of his rooms, he found a copy of the Prophet and said schedule for his classes. He skimmed over the list, glad for the lack of a morning class on Fridays and the second period break on Mondays and Wednesdays. He’d need it before dealing with a Gryffindor-Slytherin class. He was also going to have to begin remember his days of the weeks again and was suddenly very grateful that September first had landed on a Friday that particular year, giving him a weekend to quietly immerse into life at Hogwarts before being thrown to the wolves, or snakes, lions, ravens and badgers, in this case.

With this in mind, he set out to reacquaint himself with the castle and its occupants. They’s likely begin meeting for dinner as the train pulled into the station, so he had plenty of time to spare. And time was not currently his friend.

That day, as Tom moved through the campus, he had no less than three panic attacks. He was certain they could have been worse since he mostly just found he lacked the capacity to breathe, but if being in Grimmauld place triggered the flow of anxiety-inducing memories, then he wasn’t quite sure how he thought he’d be able to handle Hogwarts. He’d raised his only daughter in the school, watched children grow to adults and find their places in life here.

He found early on that apparently Hagrid was gone from his hut and would learn later that he was doing business for the Order and would have a substitute for his classes until he returned, and instead moved to examine the Greenhouses and shook the hands of Pomona Sprout, still head of Hufflepuff house, introducing himself. Pomona, like Minerva, had been behind him far enough in school that she either didn’t make the connection of who he was, or Albus had already informed her and she did not care. Either way he spent a little bit of the morning chatting with the pleasant woman and discussing classes and the students.

He found Minerva next, but the woman was finishing up last minute lesson plans and clearly had little patience for him, so he cleared out rather quickly and instead moved to find Albus, who he had seen but once or twice since he’d been dropped at Grimmauld Place.

The Headmaster was also gone from campus and that was about when the first panic attack led on, though he had it under control in only a few minutes, his breathing slowly evening before deciding to head back to his rooms for the rest of the day. The rest of the day was spent on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and the Quidditch Pitch. He wondered if Rolanda Hooch was still the Flying instructor, and if she would kill him terribly if he happened to break into the quidditch shed to borrow a broom for a bit. It was Filius, as that moment, who triggered the second panic attack, who surprised him so thoroughly he nearly tripped on the short man. Flitwick had been a professor when he had taught there and looked no worse for wear than Tom remembered him, albeit a bit older than the Filius from his world. The war, the war that Voldemort had brought upon them, had seemed to have aged many of them.

“Sorry,” Tom apologized as he rubbed his face with his hands. “I, you surprised me.”

Instead Filius nodded understandingly and answered him some questions about the change in the school from one world to the other, something Pomona hadn’t known or thought to do, and something he doubted Minerva had the patience for. Tom quickly discovered that this Hogwarts had fewer students than his own, as well as less electives as a result. More muggle like classes that could be carried out in spare time or clubs, such as music and art, literature and the like, had been bumped in favor of more magical classes. Such a shame.

As they talked besides the classes he learned had been dropped, the only other major change in staff he could make note was the appearance of Sybil Trelawney, who had somehow acquired the position of Divination professor. Tom had never put much stock in Divination, but at least he had a fair amount of respect for those who could understand it better than he.

The pair headed back towards the castle to dress formally for the welcoming feast and prepare the arrival of the students. Despite going through the same motions he did every year, or nearly the same motions, considering he was back in the Defense professor’s rooms and not the Head of Slytherin’s room in the dungeons, he still could feel an anxious ball in his stomach, no unlike the way he’d felt the first year of teaching. Nerves. He shooed them off. As a younger man he’d pretended he didn’t get nervous, as it was what was taught in Slytherin, but after having spent a decent amount of time in the real world he knew it would unhealthy to try and hide every little thing behind a mask. Besides, nerves were expected of a new teacher, were they not? Especially one coming into a position that was rumored to be cursed, and even more so given the track record of what had happened to the last professors, having heard about it all from Remus whilst discussing the classes.

Most of the professors were already taking their seats at the staff table located at the end of the Great Hall, running perpendicular to the rest of the tables designated for the different houses. Some gave him simple nods and smiles in the form of a greeting while others watched him warily. He wondered if they were simply suspicious or if they had some inkling of who he was, but instead was relieved when Filius traded with the Astronomy professor to take a seat beside him.

Then the waiting began. He resisted the urge to tap his foot and instead talked quietly with Filius and introduced himself to the other professors that were sitting nearby, including the Muggle Studies professor, Burbage, and Sinistra, said Astronomy professor. Their discussions quieted, but did not cease as the students trickled in, each grouping off to their own tables, the night having finally completely descended on them. He looked around to see Albus who had finally returned from whatever it was he’d been up to, but the man avoided his gaze. Tom frowned but decided it was likely best to not dwell on it.

He didn’t know what he expected, but… there they all were. Or most of them, at least, his older students. Some were missing, likely simply didn’t exist in this world, or they looked slightly different than he recalled, but there they were, his students. The ones that bothered him the most, he supposed, were the Slytherins, who were even more secluded from the rest than normal and were looking at the rest of the students with cold calculating eyes he was certain he’d only seen in a few of his students in the year prior. Not the entire house.

A few of the ghosts were floating on through the walls, likely having stopped to chat with the first years who were tucked in the antechamber off to the side, waiting to be brought along. The room quieted as the doors of the antechamber opened and Minerva led the two rows of students past the tables and towards the staff table, the Sorting Hat and a stool in hand. Tom sat up a little, eager to see the new students. Seeing the changes in his current ones was beginning to wear on him.

Despite the change in the students themselves, nearly all of them, every year without fail, all bore that same scared and anxious expression. The paused at the base of the high table as Minerva sat down the stool and placed the ancient and heavily patched wizard’s hat upon the stool. Nearly all of the prattle of the students and staff died away as Minerva stepped away and many of the first years stared wide-eyed at the hat. After a few silent moments, the large half stitched rip near the brim of the hat opened wide into a smug grin.

_“In times of old when I was new_

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The founders of our noble school_

_Thought never to be parted:_

_United by a common goal,_

_They had the selfsame yearning,_

_To make the world’s best magic school_

_And pass along their learning._

_“Together we will build and teach!”_

_The four good friends decided_

_And never did they dream that they_

_Might someday be divided,_

_For were there such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad, sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, “We’ll teach just those_

_Whose ancestry is purest.”_

_Said Ravenclaw, “We’ll teach those whose_

_Intelligence is surest.”_

_Said Gryffindor, “We’ll teach all those_

_With brave deeds to their name,”_

_Said Hufflepuff, “I’ll teach the lot,_

_And treat them just the same.”_

_These differences caused little strife_

_When first they came to light,_

_For each of the four founders had_

_A House in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so,_

_For instance, Slytherin_

_Took only pureblood wizards_

_Of great cunning, just like him,_

_And only those of sharpest mind_

_Were taught by Ravenclaw_

_While the bravest and the boldest_

_Went to daring Gryffindor._

_Good Hufflepuff she took the rest,_

_And taught them all she knew,_

_Thus the Houses and their founders_

_Retained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_For several happy years,_

_But then discord crept among us_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The Houses that, like pillars four,_

_Had once held up our school,_

_Now turned upon each other and,_

_Divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school_

_Must meet an early end,_

_What with dueling and with fighting_

_And the clash of friend on friend_

_And at last there came a morning_

_When old Slytherin departed_

_And though the fighting then died out_

_He left us quite downhearted._

_And never since the founders four_

_Were whittled down to three_

_Have the Houses been united_

_As they once were meant to be._

_And now the Sorting Hat is here_

_And you all know the score:_

_I sort you into Houses_

_Because that is what I’m for,_

_But this year I’ll go further,_

_Listen closely to my song:_

_Though condemned I am to split you_

_Still I worry that it’s wrong,_

_Though I must fulfill my duty_

_And must quarter every year_

_Still I wonder whether sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger_

_From external, deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her_

_Or we’ll crumble from within._

_I have told you, I have warned you. …_

_Let the Sorting now begin.”_

 

Most years after the Sorting Hat sang it’s song, the students and staff would great out into a boisterous applause of hoots and whistles. However, Tom could not recall the hat ever sing about something so serious since his time as a child when Grindelwald was around trying to gather followers. Accordingly there was a decent amount of clapping, but the students were casting glances and whispering amongst themselves as they asked each other what they thought the hat meant. Looking at the staff it was clear they knew, and Tom was certain he understood it, even if he still hadn’t seen the havoc his counterpart had wrecked upon the students of the school.

Despite the hushed conversations, Minerva brought them to heel with her fiery glare and unfurled the scroll with the first years names upon it.

“Abercrombie, Euan.”

The first terrified little boy was promptly declared a Gryffindor and Tom clapped politely, reminding himself not to look too pleased when someone got sorted into Slytherin. They weren’t his house here. And there it went. Tom studied each student as he did every year, trying to remember each name to face and the house associated with it. It would get easier a couple weeks into school, but he liked to start early. Then Rose Zeller was named a Hufflepuff and Minerva carried the stool and the hat from the Great Hall.

As the doors slid shut behind her, the headmaster rose to his feet, a warm smile on his face for his students. Being closer than the students, he, along with most of the staff, could see he had also heard the clear warning of the sorting hat, and was concerned, his light blue eyes stormy with thought.

“To our newcomers,” Albus started, stretching his arms wide in greeting, “Welcome! To our old hands, welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!”

Food appeared on the tables before them and Dumbledore sat and threw his beard over his shoulder in a humorous fashion, earning laughs from the students and a few chuckles from the professors. As Tom scooped chicken onto his plate, he recalled a time when he thought that Albus must use the Sonorus charm before his speeches, but he learned quickly that the Headmaster just had one of those strong voices that demanded attention, something he’d spent the better part of his life trying to master.

The chatter was picking up again and Tom found himself more interested in watching his students than joining in. Some students would leane between their tables to greet each other, but very few greeted those in Slytherin house, save a Hufflepuff here, a Ravenclaw there. While there had always been a strong rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor, he’d never remembered this much hostility between his house and the rest of the school. Likewise he was noticing the same amount of suspicion being played in Potter’s direction, where he sat with his friends and Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor House ghost.

This is what the sorting hat meant, clearly.

Slowly, the scrap and clatter of silverware against plates ceased and the noise level ascended as students found themselves without want for food. When more than half the population of the room appeared to be done with their food, Albus rose again.

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,” said Dumbledore. “First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too. Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch’s office door.

“We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Riddle, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

A polite clap spread out amongst the students and he smiled at them and the woman named Grubbly-Plank nodded her head in recognition.

“Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the ninth and tenth of the month and if you do not see a sign up sheet in your common room by the beginning of the school week, be sure to contact your Head of House!”

A few other announcements were made, but Tom realized he was finding it hard to pay attention, growing fidgety and bouncing his leg as he waited for the dismissal.

“And now, it is time to send you all off to bed!” The Headmaster declared, “You have a weekend to rest up before the start of classes!”

Tom rose  with the rest of the students and staff and made his way towards the front door, only stopped once or twice by students offering introductions and congratulations on getting hired. He recognized them as former students and could hear the echo of Prefects calling their students together to head off to their respective houses. He almost began walking towards the dungeons, then reminded himself in time to take to the stairs.

As a student he’d found out where each of the houses were simply because he wanted to know. Ravenclaws and Gryffindors took to the stairs given their houses resided on the seventh floor, each on opposite ends on the building, while Slytherins and Hufflepuffs were on floors lower than the ground level. As such, he found himself amongst a mix of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors. He realized his mistake too late. Most of the times staff would hang back and wait for the students to clear from the halls, but he was so accustomed to leaving early to walk his house to the dungeons he hadn’t considered it.

He bumped shoulders with a student and caught the eye of one of the Weasley twins, who nodded at him with a smile. Luckily, his floor came four flights before the students, and he was able to duck off early. The hard part would be surviving the weekend. 


	11. Gaunt Rings & Possessed Diaries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, a couple things really quick. 1) JK Rowling said they took the train on the 1st and that classes are on Mondays, but that doesn't really match up so given the 1st of 1995 was on a Friday, I used it to my advantage for this little scene. Which lead to; 2) Voldemort's horcruxes obviously aren't going to stay anywhere he might suspect Tom of being able to find them. So yes, the Gaunt ring was moved. Tom never studied horcruxes and he's not just going to figure it out overnight, especially not with a bunch of classes and the soon to be there Dolores Umbridge.

_He hadn’t felt this smug since he’d come out above Mulciber and the rest of the Slytherins in their first year, getting O’s in all of his classes save Astronomy, which he got an Exceeds Expectations in. Only two other students in their year were above him in grades, and both were Ravenclaws, and he was tutoring both Avery and Lestrange AND two fifth years in Runes. Each year of students had their own ringleaders, the ones who were in charge. It varied on the reasons. Some, such as Malfoy, only held their spot due to old family lines and prestige and connections that no one wished to challenge, while others, such as Mulciber, had led their groups based on the traits that had landed them in the house of the snake. Ambition, cunning, resourcefulness, and the like, and were always backed strongly if their bloodline was considered pure._

_Considering he was thought to be a muggleborn by his house, he’d always been at the bottom of the totem pole. The only reason he’d managed to not be shunned completely by his housemates was because of his extreme cunning and resourcefulness. Not only was he relatively close with the professors due to his charming nature, but he’d found his way into their Head of Houses “Slug Club.” By second year he’d found a place of protection, for lack of better word, among his peers. He was a mudblood to them, and he’d never bothered to correct it as it would be hard without revealing his hand. But, he was a useful mudblood._

_To be honest, while he knew that when word got out about him being a parselmouth he’d have to assume the position of top dog, he did not want to make an enemy of Mulciber. Besides the fact that Mulciber was well connected, the boy was relatively nice to him, at least less derogatory towards him then most of the others in his house._

_Lounging in a straight-backed chair he’d taken by the fire, the younger years gave him a wide berth and the rest of his year hung around him uneasily. Such shifts in power were rare, especially given it was him, the person most had openly ignored. Much to his surprise, Mulciber never dropped his devil-may-care attitude, despite the fact that he was now only second in command, and was still telling Avery a joke. He hadn’t made any threats and to be honest Tom was waiting for the other shoe to drop._

_In a way he was glad that they knew now who he was, even if he hadn’t been planning on revealing it in such a way. Professor Kettleburn had been lecturing them on the naga breed when one managed to wiggle it’s way free of the crate it was contained within. They were fairly small, but highly irritated after being confined to the crates. The creature had darted towards one of the Ravenclaws and he’d had only a split second to act before he was commanding it to stop._

_The class of course, was abruptly ended, both because Kettleburn was focusing on getting the naga into a better cage, and because everyone was whispering loudly to each other._

_Tom Riddle was a parselmouth. The boy in question found the situation to be highly amusing, given how everyone was tiptoeing around him like they were afraid he was going to order them to be executed. Wizards were odd in this fashion. Sure, Heir of Slytherin was an impressive title, but he had no funds to his name, and lived in a muggle orphanage during the summer for Merlin’s sake._

_As the night went on, more and more students drifted down to their dorms to turn in for the night, until the room was empty and it was only him and Mulciber. Theon Mulciber was from a well off family, like so many in Slytherin, raised with the resourcefulness and drilled in ambition that came with many of the old pureblood families._

_Slowly and deliberately Tom closed the book in his lap and cleared his throat. “Shall I be expecting an attempt of revenge?”_

_Mulciber raised his eyebrows at his straight forward question and gave a sly smile. “I don’t believe so. I find leading is quite an exhausting effort for little return in rewards. Besides, I placed a heft bet with Goban a couple weeks ago that ole Sluggy will picking you for prefect next year.”_

_“Oh?” Tom asked._

_Mulciber nodded, “Oh sure, we may have our little ranks, but Sluggy picks his favorites and you’re clearly his.”_

_Not knowing how to respond, Tom stared off into the fire, but Mulciber continued on, “I expect it’ll all settle down in a week or so, given you’re a natural leader. I’ve seen how you handle the lower years and do your little study groups. And if you need help, I’ll be here.”_

_“Why are you being so helpful?” Tom asked carefully._

_Mulciber shrugged nonchalantly. “No everyone wants to see you fail, you know. Sure we were all a bit harsh on you, but you’re a decent bloke and I’d rather egg you on that have to try and fight you for the spot, yeah?”_

_“Better an ally than an enemy,” Tom mused, rubbing his fingers over the cover of his textbook._

_Mulciber nodded his head in confirmation. “Also I’m fairly certain you know more curses and hexes than I do so I’d rather stay clear of those, thanks.”_

_Tom smirked. “Very well. Allies?”_

_Mulciber extended a hand, “If we’re allies, then you might want to call me Theon.”_

_Taking his hand and shaking it, he nodded. “And you might want to call me Tom.”_

* * *

 

While he had sworn that he’d finally immerse himself into school life with the weekend between the arrival of the students and the start of classes, he found himself simply not wanting to, and instead took a trip out of the area.

Apparating to Little Hangleton, Tom found himself outside the Gaunt shack. It had taken him some time to rename the home, given he’d demolished the shack and the name Gaunt was a bit dodgy sounding, but he’d finally settled on Rowanoak Cottage, a play on the word Roanoke and the fact that most of the trees on the front side of the property were either rowans or oaks. He was suddenly very glad to have rebuilt the home completely instead of trying to fix up the shack, and the extra years it had been left had done no favors to this horrid building. The gates and fences were trashed and falling over. He wondered if the muggles could see it and if so, why they had left it be so long.

Voldemort seemed to have no desire to reclaim the home and Tom wondered what the man had done just after school if he hadn’t lived in the shack. The dead snake, long since rotted away, had left a stain on the door, and he hesitated entering the shack.

He couldn’t bring himself to believe sometimes that Voldemort was another version of himself given how different the pair was. Besides the absolute horror and chaos he’d wrecked on the general public, it was like Tom had never existed.

Pushing the door open, he stepped cautiously inside. It was empty, like no one had been there in over a century and he wasn’t quite sure what drew him to the house, but he knew it was empty and there was nothing left for him here. No meaning or answer to the madness of the other him and he apparated quietly to the Riddle Manor. It was just as torn apart, if not more so, though there were a few signs of the place having been lived in, possibly by squatters or the followers of Voldemort during the year prior. He could remember something from Voldemort’s memories, the flashes of them at least, enough to know he’d been in the house as well.

It was getting dark when Tom finally found his way back to Hogwarts. Despite having eaten nothing since breakfast, which he’d taken in his quarters, he found himself unable to stomach the idea of eating in front of nearly three hundred curious students and staff. But, when he arrived to his room on the third floor, there was already someone there.

Albus was peering down at the lessons plans which were stacked neatly on the desk and only turned with Tom shut the door behind him. “I see you’re settling in.” His tone was welcoming, but Tom could tell from the lack of a sparkle in the man’s eyes this was to be a serious talk, rather than just a check up.

 “As much as one can in these circumstances,” he said in agreement.

“I was surprised that I did not see you at lunch today,” Albus continued, “And then again for dinner. I thought perhaps I should check up on my newest professor.”

“I was looking into some things,” Tom said with a wave of his hand. “I wanted to see if something was… changed.”

“And was it?” Albus asked, taking a seat into one of the arm chairs by the fire.

Tom shook his head. “As empty as the day I claimed it.”

“Your home?” Albus asked with unconcealed surprise, to which Tom nodded. “I wanted to know if Voldemort would claim the only remaining belongings and property of Slytherin’s heirs, the Gaunts. Their shack was untouched, though it appeared as though he’d been putting a little use to the Riddle Manor.”

Albus nodded his head thoughtfully and pulled a familiar black books from inside his robe. It was black, leather bound and Tom had not looked at it in years, not since he’d placed it onto one of the shelves in his study for safe keeping. He’d received it as a present from Professor Slughorn in his fifth year, “T. M. Riddle” engraved on the back cover. He’d not used it as a diary, per say, but rather as a book to take personal notes and reminders in, sometimes using it to make homework lists or plan out his week, while eventually he and his year mates had turned it into a way to pass notes in classes they were too bored to pay attention in, charming some of the back pages to link to other books that the boys owned, anything you wrote appearing on the sheet for whom the note had been penned for.

But there was something different about this diary. As he took it from Albus, he could see the large hole through the front cover, the opening going straight through to the back cover where it had just barely pierced the leather. Around the stabbed area of the book were large pockets of dried ink, as though someone had poured it into the opening and let it drench the book.

“My old diary…” He flipped it open, the pages turning over quickly in his fingers. His initials and name were still engraved in the back cover and he noticed that the book had never been written in.

“This was recovered by Ginny Weasley after a run in with one of Voldemort’s followers in which they gave her the diary. Apparently it had contained a bit of Voldemort’s soul in which he possessed Miss Weasley and opened the Chamber.” Albus explained. “Harry was able to stop him however, and destroyed the fragment within the diary.”

“How?” Tom asked, ignoring the handful of flickers he knew were flitting around in his brain. Sure he’d catch glimpses of what had happened but it wouldn’t be the full story.

“With a basilisk fang.”

Tom went quite bug-eyed at this and blinked stupid, trying to imagine a young Harry Potter some how getting a basilisk fang without dying. “And the basilisk?”

“Killed by Harry with the sword of Gryffindor.” Albu said in a pleased tone.

To hell with trying to give the boy some extra mentoring, Tom was going to send him a caravan of chocolate and a horde of presents. “And how, exactly, is he not dead?”

“To the best of my understanding, having heard the story secondhand from Harry, Fawkes clawed its eyes out, thus rendering it unable to kill or petrify with its sight, and Harry stabbed it up through the jaw and through its brain. He was bit, but Fawkes healed him.”

“Phoenix tears,” Tom said with understanding. “Mr. Potter has lived a most excitable life.”

Albus gave a small chuckle, “Oh I’m certain you don’t know the half of it. You should ask him about it. The things he’s been through will astound you.”

Turning the diary over in his hands, Tom wondered what he should address first. There was the soul in the book, but he knew that had waited long enough, it could wait a bit longer. “Why did you insist on Mr. Potter staying with his relatives during the summer?”

Albus leaned back in the chair, still smiling. “Would you believe me if I said I simply hoped he and his cousin would bond some more?”

When Tom shook his head with a stern look, Albus sighed and shrugged. “When Lily died to save Harry, it put a protection over him and his home. The safety of the wards lives on through Lily’s sister, Petunia, keeping him safe from those who wish him harm.”

“That sounds like a flawed plan, Albus,” Tom said cautiously, “There are too many ifs, especially considering the attack of those dementors. Had I decided you were being ridiculous and not gone and gotten him, who knows what might have happened.”

“Actually,” Albus said with some hint of amusement, “I had planned on sending some of the Order to pick him up that week, but I delayed it due to your presence at Grimmauld Place.”

“Excuse my language Albus, but that is bullshit and you and I both know it. You could have asked me to stay at the school.”

The headmaster gave a sigh and shifted in the chair. This wasn’t the same Albus as his own. They were so similar sometimes he forgot, but this one had been used to being the one in control, the one playing the pieces on the chessboard without ever answering for his moves or choices. “I did truly intend to have Harry picked up, and I felt it was vital for you to interact with the Order, but it appears you still managed to hermit yourself away.” When Tom’s eyes narrowed in accusation, Albus continued with an explanation. “I asked Molly.”

“You shouldn’t be worried about whether I’m tucking myself away or not.” Tom folded his arms across his chest. “I’m a grown man. Mr. Potter, on the other hand, is not. You’re turning that boy into a soldier, Albus. To what end?”

Albus frowned. “I only have Harry’s best interests at heart.”

“Albus,” Tom started then stopped. Several things weren’t adding up and the more he absentmindedly flipped the pages of the destroyed diary, the more the pieces all seemed connected. “Harry said that sometimes he could see into Voldemort’s mind. Why?”

The headmaster appeared glad that Tom was switching away from the uncomfortable topic and answered. “It seems that when Harry repelled the killing curse back at Voldemort, the pair became connected. Whenever one is feeling a particularly strong emotion, the other can feel it, and the same can sometimes happen when Harry is asleep. Before Voldemort had a body of his own, Harry would sometimes feel a sharp pain in his head, particularly around his scar.”

“And, why was Voldemort able to survive the rebound of the killing curse?” Tom pressed, “How was he able to come back?”

“I have a few theories, of course, but each seems more unlikely than the last.”

“Then explain them to me, Albus.” Tom was leaning forward now, trying to look the man in the eyes, not to use legilimency, but to try and read any emotions that the elder man might betray.

But Albus wasn’t quite ready to play his card or bleed his hand. “I’m sorry Tom. But no matter how much the Albus you knew trusted you, I have spent the majority of your life watching a Dark Lord blossom. Forgive me, but it is hard to trust you completely.” He stood slowly and Tom thumped the diary against his leg angrily.

“I hope to see you at breakfast tomorrow,” Albus said as he went towards the door.

Tom nodded absentmindedly, looking back to the diary. “I shall if you allow me to hold onto this. I would like to examine it.”

Albus consented and then took his leave.

 

The next morning, as demanded by the headmaster, Tom made an appearance at breakfast, taking a copy of the Prophet from the owl who had landed in front of him. It was Sunday and as such, most of the students were sleeping in, but a few of the older or more studious students who intended on actually waking up at the right time the next morning were there.

He received a few curious glances, but more for the normal curiosity one felt when meeting a new teacher, or likely because there was supposedly a curse on the position. Perhaps they were taking bets on how long he would last, or how he would end up leaving.

If Albus didn’t want him to hide away from the students, then he wouldn’t. He’d work on his research out by the lake, where plenty of the students liked to relax. After Albus had left the night before Tom flood back to Grimmauld Place and with Sirius’s permission, began searching through the Black Library, trying to find any books that lend him to an idea about how Voldemort had sought out immortality. There was also the connection to Harry and the diary, which helped him begin crossing off ideas from his list.

He planned on questioning Potter about his connection with Voldemort in great detail at some point, but for now he had a shoulder bag stuffed full of books that were dark enough to make Albus’s moustache curl. The diary was also shoved in there, though he doubted he’d be able to find out much about it. Perhaps a talk with Miss Weasley was also in order, since she had dealt the most with it.

Turning a page in the Prophet, he frowned at the absurdities that were being posted. It was like instead of actually reporting the news they’d become an exclusive gossip column.

“Professor Riddle,” Minerva greeted as she sat down.

“Hello Minerva. Please call me Tom, I feel like I’m being scolded.” He teased lightly. To be truthful it was simply disorienting to have a friend call him by his surname.

“Very well then,” she conceded, turning to spoon some porridge into a bowl. “Are you ready for the start of classes?”

He nodded, “I’ve been ready for weeks.” He paused, then continued, “You know, I was surprised you didn’t pick Potter for the Gryffindor’s prefect.”

Minerva grimaced slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “As it so happens, I did. Albus insisted that the boy had too much on his plate.”

“You’d think he’d want to find things to keep the boy’s mind off of things, rather than leave him to ruminate.”

“Well, he is the seeker for the Gryffindor quidditch team, so he’ll be busy with that, and he has his O.W.L.s this year to study for, but I agree.” She turned back to her food and Tom leaned back in his chair.

Tom cleared out from the Great Hall before too much of the student population made their way out of bed and he found a spot under a tree not too far from the lake and the front doors, where he’d have a clear view of the campus. The books he’d found from the Black library were helpful in his search and gave him a few leads, but nothing concrete, and the only time he managed to catch sight of Potter was when he and a small group were headed towards the quidditch pitch. Miss Weasley was among them, but he didn’t feel particularly like spoiling their fun, and let them be. There would be time another day to discuss their unpleasant memories. As he expected, nothing further came from examining the diary, though something about it made his hair stand on end.

He was handicapped in a way, because his own knowledge of these people and places conflicted with what they were in this world. Harry Potter had faced Voldemort in his first year. Voldemort had possessed the body of Quirrell and taken up residence on the back of his head, implying he lacked a body of his own. So he’d been a spirit. But he wasn’t a normal ghost as normal ghosts possessed no such ability. So something between living and dead.

Thumping the diary impatiently against his leg, he began scribbling these thoughts out on a bit of parchment, hoping that seeing them written down might help organize his thoughts.

Harry’s second year, and Ginevra’s first year, the diary had somehow possessed Miss Weasley and together they’d opened the Chamber of Secrets. When Quirrell died, had Voldemort somehow transferred over to the diary? No, but that couldn’t quite be right because Harry had described a teenage Voldemort to Dumbledore, and he doubted that a man that appeared as he currently did would have been able or wanted to take the body of his teenage self. Harry had went into the Chamber of secrets. Harry was a parselmouth. Not impossible, given Slytherin’s trait hadn’t exactly started with him, and the Gaunts and the Potters had some overlapping relatives. It was curious that Harry would have the ability, but perhaps his encounter with Voldemort as a baby had brought it out.

Scribbling out beside the mention of Harry being a parselmouth, he also added a note about the mental connection the pair shared. As he thumped the diary against his leg again, he froze and turned his attention back to it.

Voldemort had somehow managed to preserve his teenage self in here. Or was that simply what it had pretended to be? From the half fragmented memories of Voldemort and the second hand memories of Albus about the event, Ginevra had wrote in the diary, and it had responded. It wasn’t just a conduit to Voldemort though, as it was clear that Harry had destroyed the diary because the spirit in it was attempting an escape, using Miss Weasley as its sacrifice.

Now that couldn’t be good. That likely meant a bit of Voldemort was actually in the diary and he stared intently at it. He’d studied soul magic as a sort of hobby for a couple months, but it had been brief before his attention has switched over to something else. Magic that messed about with one’s soul was almost always considered dark, and therefore illegal. He felt like he’d read something about splitting a soul, but if he had, he couldn’t recall the details.

Wracking his brain, he tried to recall where he might have found such a book, but was truly uncertain. He felt like it had been from a secondhand bookstore or a cart. Nothing very easy to track down, and definitely not something he’d find in the Hogwarts library. Perhaps in the Black library he might find something, but he would likely have to dedicate an entire weekend with Sirius’s aid to search all the books for mentions of splitting one’s soul.

Leaning back against the tree he closed his eyes. Perhaps if he found a book and it was remarkably large he could simply beat Albus about the head and shoulders with it until the barmy codger saw sense.

 


	12. The Gryffindor-Slytherin Tango

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I already warned you I would be structuring the class schedules. Know that the 3rd years and below were rolled via die at random as to which house would be assigned to which house. 
> 
> 2\. I pulled canon and semi-canon names from the Harry Potter Wiki to make a masterlist for Harry's year, then added a few original names for shits and giggles. 
> 
> 3\. Even without Umbridge at the school, obviously students are going to talk, but the confrontation was much smaller (at least for now). 
> 
> 4\. Dolores will be entering next chapter. To make up for her unpleasant presense I gave you a bit from Harry's POV. 
> 
> 5\. Because I know it will be mentioned/asked of me, Draco and Harry aren't nescessarily best friends in Tom's world, but they are friendly rivals. They are far too similar to get along without bickering and are constantly trying to one-up the other in classes, but can be trusted together if assigned to a group to not cause problems.

Just how Tom had come across the Chamber of Secrets was a complete and total accident. And quite the embarrassing one. He’d managed to piss off one of the upper year prefects when he and the other first years were leaving the Great Hall for breakfast. He was distracted because he’d been thinking about what he’d learned about the Gaunts and how he was the Heir of Slytherin and not a mudblood, when he tripped right into the sixth year and he dropped a potion he’d perfected for his N.E.W.T. Potions class and sure he could have just used magic to fix the vial and pick it all up, but it was the principle of the matter. Tom had fled in the chaos and ducked into the first bathroom he’d come across.

Which turned out to be a girls bathroom. This was his luck.

Of course he’d only realized his mistake when he was already in there in the stall hiding with his feet up from the male prefect when he heard female voices. And then properly realized how screwed he was. He was not only on the run from a Slytherin prefect and stuck in the girls bathroom, but now he was going to miss his Charms class.

He could try to make a break for it and make it to Charms in time, or he could wait it out and not chance the mountain of points that would be taken out if he was caught leaving the girls’ bathroom, and try to find something to offer Avery for his Charms notes, since he was the best at it in their year. Then again, he could try and ask one of the Hufflepuffs, given he’d tutored three of them in Defense. This calmed him down and he sat on the seat, his feet up and breath quiet.

It was after the bell rang for classes that the girls finally left the room completely and even then he gave it another ten or twenty minutes of silence before he chanced leaving the stall.

Looking both ways, he slipped over to the faucet and splashed some water on his face. He’d head to the library? No, someone would notice him and he’d rather not chance it. Could he make it back to the common room? He twisted the knobs to turn off the water, and noticed a bump in the handle. He paused and look around, trying to make out the inscription. It was squiggly, with little detail to it. Odd, given that none of the other faucets seemed to have it on them.

For some reason they reminded him of snakes and he smirked. Such an odd place for something so decorative. In fact it was so out of place that he lingered, despite his original fear of being caught.

He took a step back and examined the bathroom. He’d never been in a girls bathroom before, but to his knowledge it looked like a normal bathroom. Sinks with normal faucets, save the one with the snakes on it, mirrors and bathroom stalls. And if there was one thing Tom new about Hogwarts in the year he’d been there, was that there was no coincidence with the castle. Trading help with Potions to two Ravenclaws, they’d repaid him with the knowledge of two secret pathways, one from the fifth floor corridor to the third floor corridor, the other located behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that led out to an opening near the Forbidden Forest, apparently. He’d also heard other students talking about other passages within the castle and assumed the Founders had put a lot of effort into the castle.

So was this another passage? Maybe from one of the dormitories out, or for perverted boy to sneak in? He tested the knobs, twisting them different ways and examined the pipes that ran from the sink, hoping to find a lever or button to press. No such luck.

He took a step back and examined the circle of washbasins as a whole. The snakes likely mean it had been left by Slytherin, or someone from his house. Perhaps it led down to the common room?

Letting out a hiss of annoyance, Tom was ready to give up and try to make it to the safety of the common room, but he caught sight of something. It almost looked like the snake had moved. He blinked.

Dumbledore had explained to him what a parselmouth was when they’d been at Diagon Alley, and that it was a rare talent. It was only when Tom had been doing his research on the Gaunt family did he realize the trait was found most common in Salazar Slytherin’s descendants, the Gaunts included.

Not that he’d expected for furniture and appliances with snakes in them to listen to him, but then again this was Hogwarts. Logic was to be thrown out the window. He tested it again, breathing a quiet and whispery “Hello,” at the sink, feeling a bit foolish.

But the snake responded again, moving ever so slightly and Tom smiled. “Could you please open?” He asked the snake politely. No point in irritating it and then run the possibility of it not wanting to open.

The snake responded with another wiggle and then stilled. Tom thought it might not have worked, but then suddenly the sink with the snakes on it was sliding down into the floor, revealing a trap door.

* * *

 

Tom wondered if Albus had planned to make him deal with his two classes that happened to hold both Gryffindors and Slytherins on Mondays on purpose. The bastard.

The first class of the day was one of the two first year classes, this one made up of the new Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs and he found this one unremarkable and easy to get through. These were new students and there was nothing that could trigger any sort of panic or anxiety, given these were new students and also had not been tainted by the past defense professors. He gave them an outline of the class and began by showing them one of the most basic shielding spells, having them practice it by having their partners throw tennis balls at the shields their partners conjured. Only a few people actually managed to hold any sort of shield, but that was what he’d expected. This was their first class at Hogwarts and they’d likely never done magic using a wand before now, but it was something he always did with his first years. Plenty other teachers would bundle them onder textbook work and readings for the first month or so and it was good to give them something to be excited about.

After that class was dismissed, receiving enthusiastic farewells from the students, he spent his break period tidying up the room and putting everything back in order, some of the tennis balls having escaped. The thirds years, his first Gryffindor and Slytherin class, came in shortly after and unlike with the first years who had intermingled greatly, sitting next to people from the other houses, the Gryffindors picked one side of the room and the Slytherins picked the other. This wasn’t too abnormal, but there was usually some intermingling, some friendships between the two houses, even if they still had a bit of a rivalry. This wasn’t rivalry though, this was straight out hostility.

“Right you lot, I’m going to pair you off,” He started, receiving loud groans which descended into outright objections when they realized he was pairing the houses together. He ignored them, of course, and moved onto going through basic spell work. Luckily these students weren’t too far behind and he only had to work on the shielding spells for half of the classes before moving onto the disarming spell. Despite the aggression the partners shared with each other, the mood lightened considerably when they realized this would be a practical class, rather than one swamped with book work.

Lunch that day wasn’t nearly as tense as it had been the day before and he watched the commotion of over three hundred students jammed into the Great Hall, all of them chatting loudly about their classes and sharing gossip. He could see the Weasley twins up to something at the Gryffindor table, but he left it to Minerva. Over at the Slytherin table he could see the fifth year students grilling the third years about the new professor and he chuckled when he saw the faces they were making. Apparently they’d explained how he’d paired them off with the Gryffindors for their classwork.

The next class was second years, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, and like with the first years, the two houses worked well together when he paired them into groups of four to practice the disarming and shield spells. Altogether, he was feeling much better, the melancholy he’d been experiencing almost evaporating now that he was back into his element.

And then it was time for the the fifth years. Like with his previous classes he stood by the door and greeted them as they filed in and settled into opposite sides of the class, the Slytherins clearly tense, wondering if they were to be partnered together with the Gryffindors as well.

When the bell rang to signal the beginning of class, Tom pulled the door closed and walked towards the front of the room, tugging off his robes and draping them over the chair by his desk. After a day running back and forth between the young students helping them, he found it was too hot to continue wearing the damn thing.

As he expected, there was a rigid line between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins and he pretended to consult his attendance list for names. If the Gryffindors were nervous or apprehensive about the class, they didn’t show it, and Harry gave him a nod of confidence.

“Right, so you’ve all had a bit of shoddy teachers from what I can tell, so this week we’re going to focused on reviewing the basics to make sure we’re all on the same level.” He said, placing the roster back onto his desk. There was some shuffling and people began to pull out papers and quills. “Quills and parchment away, bags to the front of the room.”

There was a moment of silence before the students hurried to comply, eager, like all classes, for a practical lesson. just like all other classes. He stepped out of the way and repressed a sigh as he watched each house stack or slump their bags away from the other house. Instead, he moved over and grabbed the bucket where he’d been keeping the balls.

“I’m going to pair you off with a work partner for class work and projects,” he reponses, pulling over the list he’d made during lunch. The Slytherins were glaring hard enough to make holes, but clearly the Gryffindors had yet to understand he likely wasn’t going to pair them within their own houses.  

“Lavender Brown, you’ll be with Tallulah Runcorn,” there was a bit of silence before the blonde girl gave a nod and slowly crossed the room to stand next to her partner. “Millicent Bulstrode and Gemma Hardwick, Vincent Crabbe and Dean Thomas, Tracey Davis and Pavarti Patil, Fau Dunbar and Arran Mulciber, Seamus Finnigan and Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle and Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger and Daphne Greengrass,” He cleared his throat as he came to the last three, most of the class already having broken the harsh divide to stand with their assigned partner, “Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter-”

“What!?” Draco and Harry yelled, nearly in unison.

Tom paused, as it was the first verbal response he’d gotten and raised his eyebrows at his student. Some of the students around them chuckled or smirked at the pair. “Your partner, Mr. Malfoy, is Mr. Potter, please go-”

“I refuse to partner with Potter!” Draco declared heatedly.

“Good, then we’re on the same page,” Harry drawled sarcastically.

“Mr. Malfoy you may either partner with Mr. Potter or you may attempt to do the work on your own but I can guarantee you will fail in the class participation part of your grade without him.” Tom gave the blonde a hard stare and he just receive a heated glare. “Right, so go join your partner. Pansy Parkinson and Sophie Roper and finally, Ronald Weasley and Blaise Zabini.” No one looked quite pleased with the arrangement, but it would have to do. Some of the pairs had been based on friendships he knew existed in his world, such as Roper and Parkinson, or Ron and Blaise, who were on fairly good terms.

“I’m going to have you practise a variety of defensive spells that you likely already know, before we move onto the first section of the semester.” He said, picking up some of the tennis balls from the bucket.

Hermione’s hand shot into the air and he nodded at her, “Yes Miss Granger?”

“What will the first section be on, professor?”

“Curses and counter-curses, can’t learn one without the other. Now, we’re going to start with a simple shield spell and then if everyone has it down pat I’ll explain some different versions of it. Miss Granger?” He called on her once again when her hand shot up into the air.

“Protego is a shield charm that protects the caster from minor spells and curses and rebounds them, generally onto the attacker.” She answered promptly.

“Correct. Five points to Gryffindor. Now, to test your spells, so we’re not sent scurrying after wands, we’re going to use these balls.” He bounced the ball several times off the ground, then passed it towards Dean Thomas. “Mr. Thomas, kindly throw that ball towards me.”

Dean gave him a hesitant look and then gently tossed the ball back his way.

“Protego,” He said loudly, making sure he spoke clearly so his students heard him. The ball bounced back off of the shield and into Dean’s hand.

“Simple as that,” he said pleasantly, tossing a ball to each pair of students. “Once you’ve all made a shield each, we’ll move on.

There was a few grumbles about having to practice a first year spell, but besides that they went on, though more than one pair snarling at each other before they’d even begun.

“What kind of throw was that?” Blaise snapped to Ron and Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose and counted backward from ten. Everyone got their shield up in short order and he only had to help Neville because he was too nervous about being pegged with the ball to cast the spell properly.

“Just remember that’s it’s pro-tay-goh, not pro-tee-goh, and you’ll do fine,” he told the boy, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Who here, besides Miss Granger,” he added giving her a smile, “Can tell me the other variations of Protego?”

Daphne and Tracey both raised their hands immediately. He nodded at Tracey Davis, “Miss Davis, name as many as you can, if you will.”

“Protego Horribilis, Protego Maxima and Protego Totalum,” She answered, giving a nod to Daphne who frowned at her.

“Good, any other other ones, Miss Greengrass?” He asked.

“Protego Infinitum,” she added, smirking at her housemate.

“Yes, good, five points to Slytherin. Now I’d like you to pair back off and try any of these versions of the spells, and I’ll circle around the room and help anyone who needs it.” As the students begrudgingly went back off to their pairs, he did as he said. Some of the students were getting a little vicious with the pelting of the balls, and he was glad he’d picked tennis balls instead of racquetballs, like he’d been considering. Warranted, he’d only encountered two Gryffindor and Slytherin classes, but this one seemed to have the most hostility towards each other. He wondered is his sixth and seventh year classes, which were N.E.W.T. classes that combined all the houses, would be this difficult. At east there would be other Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students to act as buffer.

Despite all this, they seemed uneager to provoke the new professor, and they were onto the Expelliarmus practice in short order, followed by other simple spells they should have learned in their third and fourth years. It wasn’t until they got to Diffindo that a commotion went up. Most of the students knew the Reparo charm, so when the rubbed was cut open, it was easy enough to fix. But apparently Potter had hit Malfoy with his Diffindo.

“I’m going to die!” The blonde yelled dramatically as he held his hand over the large cut that ran across his cheek and onto the top of his neck, “I’ve been maimed!”

Tom shook his head and pushed through the students around the pair and noticed Potter was smirking at his partner.

“Mr. Malfoy I assure you these dramatics are completely unnecessary,” He chided, gently pulling the boy’s hand away from his face. Well, it was a bit deep but nothing Madame Pomfrey couldn’t heal up in a couple minutes. “Mr. Potter, please escort your partner-”

“Why so he can try to kill me again?” Draco demanded, putting his hand back to the cut, which was still bleeding onto his robes.

“For the love of Merlin’s pants,” Tom said with a loud sigh, “Mr. Malfoy I am not above using a silencing spell on you. Mr. Potter, get a move on to the infirmary if you would.”

Harry moved and picked up his and Draco’s bags, which Malfoy quickly snatched from his partner. The rest of the class was slowly moving back into the routine, but he could see them all whispering about something o other and he doubted he’d be able to hold their attention for much longer. Like herding cats, the fifth years were.

“Well, I think that’s enough of a foundation for me to work on.” Tom announced to the class and he noticed most were looking at him with raised brows. “I have a syllabus for you and if you’d like to get ready for next class, read chapter seven in your book about the theory and beginning of curses and counter curses.”

He noticed a hand raised, “Yes Miss Patil?”

“Aren’t curses considered Dark Magic?” The Indian girl asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Magic isn’t separated solely into dark and light, Miss Patil. There are plenty of spells that fall into a grey area depending upon how they are used, which we will discuss next class, so please do the reading.” He grabbed the papers from his desk and began passing them to all the students as they grabbed their bags and filed from the room, letting them free an extra twenty minutes early.

Hermione lingered behind the crowd with Ron and waited until most of the students had disappeared out the door before approaching him. “You did quite well. I’ve already read most of the first half of the book.” She said encouragingly, and he wondered if this is how she’d been with other new teacher, or if he was an exception due to their accommodations that summer.

“Is there any way Harry and I can pair off together?” Ron asked hopefully and Tom shook his head, smiling.

“Honestly Ron, don’t you see what he’s doing?” Hermione said in a bossy tone.

Ron gave a shrug that clear said he did and Tom watched in amusement as the girl began lecturing the redhead, “The sorting hat specifically said our school needs to be united, and what better way to do that than improve house relations between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins?”

Tom was going to praise Hermione on her deductive skills, but Ron shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think we have a better chance of Malfoy lobbing some curse we’re practicing at Harry and calling it a mistake.”

“All the spells that we’ll practice in this class will be highly monitored by myself, Mr. Weasley,” Tom assured him, “No true harm will come to any students in this room, outside the normal scrapes, scratches or bruises that comes with the practical application of magic.”

Miss Granger gave him an approving nod and tugged her friend out of the room, but Mr. Weasley still looked plenty doubtful.

* * *

 

Harry thought the class was going off well enough. Part of him wasn’t surprised that Riddle had decided to pair them off with the Slytherins, but that didn’t make him a bad professor. In fact, he was quite good. He spoke loud and clearly, in the same way that the more seasoned professor at Hogwarts spoke. He also had a calm expression and a gentle tone when he corrected  his students, and Harry was surprised to see Neville seemed more calm around the man than he was around most of the professor he’d known for years.

Suddenly the ball bounced off the side of his head and Harry snatched it up and glared at Malfoy who was giving him a smug smile. “Pay attention Potter.”

Giving a sigh he lobed the ball back at the blond, who cut it near in half with his diffindo. While Malfoy mended the ball with the reparo charm, Harry wondered if there was anyway he could convince Riddle to switch him to Ron or Hermione.

Probably not. “Merlin’s sake, Potter,” Malfoy snapped and Harry raised an eyebrow, raising his wand. Only Malfoy’s toss went clear out of the path and the Diffindo Harry had cast landed on Malfoy, who recoiled in pain.

Harry froze as he saw the blood pouring from the cut, which had extended across half of Malfoy’s face, and onto the top part of his neck, dripping blood onto the Slytherin’s robes.

It wasn’t until Malfoy pulled his hand away from his cheek and saw that it was covered in blood did he start to panic, “I’m going to die!” Harry rolled his eyes as the boy continued on dramatically exclaiming, “I’ve been maimed!”

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered as Riddle pushed through the students.

“Mr. Malfoy I assure you these dramatics are completely unnecessary,” He said in a scold, grasping Malfoy’s hand as he bent over to look into his student’s face. He peered at it for a few moments as the students gathered around them. The Gryffindors were smirking at Harry with a look of “Well done,” while the Slytherins were alternating between giving Malfoy sympathies and sneering at Harry.  

“Mr. Potter,” Riddle said, straightening up and releasing Malfoy from his grasp, “please escort your partner-”

“Why?” Draco snapped loudly, “So he can try to kill me again?” He slapped his hand back to his face to covered the cut and grimaced.

“For the love of Merlin’s pants,” Riddle said, an ounce of annoyance finally coming into his tone, “Mr. Malfoy I am not above using a silencing spell on you.” There was a twitter of snickers from the Gryffindors and Harry pressed his mouth into a thin line to keep from smiling broadly at Malfoy. “Mr. Potter, get a move on to the infirmary if you would.”

Giving the professor a nod, he moved to the wall where most of them had dropped their school bags and grabbed his up and found Malfoy’s among the bunch. But then Malfoy was there, tugging the bag from him and Harry just followed the blonde out the door.

“Completely irresponsible,” Malfoy was muttering as they left the room, “he’s a nutter, just like the rest.”

“I think he’s quite good,” Harry rebuttled, “Better than some death eater taking a polyjuice potion.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed but he continued on as though Harry had said nothing. “At least he said he’ll be teaching us some curses. Wonder how long that will last before our buffoon of a headmaster puts a stop to it.”

Harry was a bit curious about that, to be honest. He wondered if Riddle meant that they’d be learning the theory behind curses and the practical approach to the counter-curses, or if he actually planned on teaching them curses. Not that the Slytherins needed any teaching, given their parents had likely already taught them plenty. “No that you need the help with curses, Malfoy.” Harry snapped.

Malfoy would have replied but they’d entered the infirmary and Harry quickly bolted, not willing to stay with Malfoy a moment longer than necessary. Backtracking back towards the Defense classroom. Riddle was still a bit… off to him, but then again, he could tell the man felt sorely out of place.

“Oh good,” He heard Hermione say, pausing as the pair came up on his sides, “we thought we might have missed you.”

“Did Malfoy die on the way to the infirmary?” Ron asked hopefully, shouldering his bag.

“I couldn’t be that lucky,” Harry responded with a smirk, ignoring the disapproving look Hermione was shooting them.

“Well, I’m just glad we have a decent teacher this year,” Hermione said, taking the stairs ahead of her friends.

“Yeah, besides the partners bit, the class wasn’t half bad,” Ron agreed and Harry nodded along. “He’s a nutter if he thinks we’ll be getting along with the snakes, though.”

“I wonder if we did where he comes from,” Hermione said softly, looking thoughtful as they waited for one of the staircases to move into place.”

Ron snorted, “Like hell.”

“It makes sense though,” Hermione continued, “If Voldemort never came to power, then there was never any Death Eaters, and then Slytherin wouldn’t be as infamous as they are.”

“I really doubt the Malfoys would suddenly become chummy to muggleborns, Hermione,” Ron replied and Harry nodded his head again. The thought of being on friendly terms with Malfoy or any of the Slytherins just sounded like a disaster waiting to happen.

The trio dropped their bags off at the tower before heading back downstairs for the beginning of dinner, where most of the school had already gathered. Harry frowned as he caught sight of Malfoy who had a large bandage over his cheek, telling some exaggerated story to his fellow Slytherins.

Ron and Hermione followed his gaze. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sure he’s only doing it to get a rise, Madame Pomfrey likely healed it already,” Hermione said, turning back to her plate.

“Hello, hello, hello,” One of the twins said, taking a seat beside Hermione, while the other, George, Harry was fairly certain, came and took a seat next to him. “So, how was Riddle class?”

“Harry managed to land a Diffindo on Malfoy,” Ron said through some mashed potatoes.

The twins craned their neck and nodded when they caught sight of the Slytherin. “Ah, isn’t that a bit tame, though?”

“We were hoping that he’d be teaching us something interesting.” The other continued.

“He wants to see where we’re at in our studies,” Hermione explained. “He says we’ll be starting on curses and counter-curses next class.”

“Good then,” George said.

“Finally have a bit of a teaching that’s useful,” continued Fred.

“Are you both in his N.E.W.T. class?” Hermione asked, to which they nodded.

Harry turned to his dinner, drowning out the conversation beside him. While most of the talk around him was about classes that day, or discussions about what everyone did over the summer, Harry caught a couple of the first years staring at him from one end of the table, while he could swear another group nearby had mentioned something about Cedric Diggory. All at once he felt slightly paranoid and looked up to the staff table. Riddle was flipping through a book while McGonagall and Dumbledore were deep in conversation and the rest of the teachers were likewise preoccupied.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, and he turned his attention back to his friends, all of them staring at him.

“Er, sorry, what?” He asked.

“Never mind, come on, we should probably head back to the common room,” Hermione said, pushing her plate forward.

“Um’m not done,” ROn complained around some food and Harry stared at Hermione in confusion.

“He’s a bit mad, if he thinks You-Know-Who’s come back.” This time Harry could hear it much more clearly and Hermione winced.

“Harry’s not mad,” Neville defended and Harry turned around to beam at the boy. “If he and Dumbledore dore say he’s back, then he’s back.”

“Thanks Neville,” Harry interrupted loudly, “Seems not many people have much sense anymore.”

A sort of silence fell over the table and Seamus glared at Harry before returning back to his plate. The night before was still fresh in both their minds and Harry wondered how long the pair were going to fight before Seamus finally saw sense. Dean gave him an embarrassed half smile and a shrug as if to say “what can I do?”

“You know, Hermione, I think I am done,” Harry said, pushing his plate forward. Ron, having taken the hint, swallowed down the rest of the food on his plate quickly and hurried after the,.

The Hufflepuffs must have heard the conversation and relayed it to the other tables, because eyes from all over the hall followed them out onto the landing.

“You know, I don’t get why they’re trying to hush it up so bad,” Harry said bitterly as they took to the first set of stairs, his stomach uneasy from the events. “They all believed Dumbledore just fine last year.”

Hermione remained quiet for a moment before giving a slight shrug. “Well, I think that’s the thing though. Not everyone did.”

“What d’you mean?” Harry demanded, and Ron quickly slowed so he fell behind the pair.

“You don’t have to bite my head off,” Hermione said cooly, continuing on the stairs, “It’s just that, you showed up back with the trophy after disappearing, and you were clutching onto Cedric’s dead body, but none of us actually saw what happened, in the maze or at the graveyard. We just had you and Dumbledore telling us what happened and sure the bit with Moody in the trunk led a lot of credence to it, but not everyone wants to think that You-Know-Who has come back.”

“It’s easier to think you’re crazy,” Ron added in what Harry had to assume was a helpful manner from behind them.

“But its the truth!” said Harry loudly, causing some startled looks from the portraits.

Hermione shushed him quickly. “We know that, and Dumbledore knows that, but not all the students do. It’s just that before the truth could sink in, everyone went home for the summer, where they spent two months reading about how you’re a nutcase and Dumbledore’s going senile!”

By this point they’d hit the seventh floor corridor that led to the portrait of the Fat Lady, and through the tall windows they could see the rain pouring outside. He’d been having a good day too, despite the run in with Snape and the potion he’d botched earlier that morning, but now he felt like he could crawl into his bed and sleep for a week without regrets.

“Mimbulus mimbletonia,” said Hermione, before the Fat Lady could ask. The portrait swung open to reveal the darkened portrait hole and they climbed through it, one after the other.

The common room was almost empty with nearly everyone still down at dinner. Crookshanks uncoiled himself from an armchair and trotted to meet them, purring loudly, and when Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their three favorite chairs at the fireside he leapt lightly into Hermione’s lap and curled up there like a furry ginger cushion. Harry gazed into the flames, feeling drained and exhausted.

“Hey,” Ron said suddenly, looking up, “I just had a thought.”

Harry grunted and his best friend continued on, “The defense position is jinxed, right? What is Dumbledore thinking putting Riddle in it?”

“Maybe that’s the whole plan,” Hermione said, stroking Crookshanks, “the jinx works in his favor and he finds a way home at the end of the year.”

“Or maybe he’ll get the boot in the first week. Or get attacked by the mini Death Eater squad,” Ron added with a sigh.

“We should probably work on some homework,” Harry said half-heartedly, and even Hermione seemed reluctant to get started on homework so early. They gathered their materials and set up back by the fire, the students already filing back in from dinner. The majority of them gave the trio a wide berth.

 

 


	13. Splitting Souls & Picking Sides

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, sorry for the long wait on the update, I've been really busy getting ready for finals since I have them this week and next week, plus I went camping for Thanksgiving week and then fucked up my leg on a motorbike while camping and then I'm going to Disney for next weekend for my birthday, but after that I'll go back to posting two chapters a week. I had an especially hard time on this because I rewrote the "memory" bit and the Harry/Tom convo about three times now, and I finally decided I don't completely hate this one. I still need a beta, but all the offers I'm getting are mostly from people who "only have a little bit of spare time." Basically, I'm writing this all up on a Google Doc so if you have some spare time to skim it over and help me edit it, great. If not, I'll keep going as I am. 
> 
> Also, to address a very heated review I received on ff.net, I'd like to clarify some points in case anyone else was wondering. In the fifth book, everyone in Grimmauld house HAD wands. I can only assume the fact that Sirius, Remus, Molly, Fred, George, plus all the other people coming and going from the houses all didn't use their wands is because either the house was so far gone spells had little effect, or some other reason. Also, they referred this this as "child labor" and I can assure you coming from the oldest of three, this is not unreasonable child labor, this is cleaning a house to make it livable and basically normal chores. There's no reason Tom would be upset with these "idiocies". 
> 
> Tom also has mentioned in passing that Harry is slightly shorter and thinner than the Harry in his world, but this isn't something he can just magically fixed. The damage was already done from malnourishment as a child, something I know about having taken multiple child development classes. Harry isn't currently malnourished, or else Tom could help. Also, he hasn't started "heavily training" Harry because, as addressed int he chapter previous, Tom doesn't approve of Harry being treated like a damn soldier. Tom has no problem helping Harry by arming him with knowledge and training him as a fifteen year old should be trained. As for the Occlumency, in the book they made this seem like something that's fairly difficult to master, and that's made even worse by the fact that Harry's going up against Voldemort, whose one of the best legimems, or whoever you spell it, I can't be bother to correct it. Tom will be stepping in when he finds out Albus wants Snape to train Harry, but he's not about to go throwing the idea around given Harry is A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD BOY. 
> 
> As to the other complaints in the review, I was really confused about them. "Didn't start applying his Slytherin abilities to the problem with the Prophet? Didn't immediately get Sirius out of trouble with the aurors by starting a publicity campaign and getting in touch directly with Bones?" Well, sure, Tom has lots of Slytherin abilities like cunning and ambition and resourcefulness, but here his ambition is focused mainly on trying to get home, even though he does want to help. And he doesn't exactly have any resources here. What's he going to do? Run to the Prophet and start screaming about he's Lord Voldemort from another world where he isn't batshit insane? What can Tom Riddle in this world do when almost all of the Wizarding World is calling Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter crazy fro saying Voldemort is back and alive. So, I really don't know how to answer that part of the review except to say, that wouldn't work story-wise at all, in fact is would make the characters really over-powered and the story kind of boring. 
> 
> I still appreciate the reviews, positive or negative, this one just threw me for a loop so...

_“Hey, hey, what are you doing!?” Tom yelled, pulling two second years apart. It was only his second day as a new prefect, and he was already about to turn the badge in._

_The little second year boy, a Gryffindor, in his right hand squirmed a bit before catching sight of his prefect badge. “He called me a mudblood!”_

_Tom frowned and looked to the other second year, who he realized was in fact a Slytherin. “Did you?”_

_“No,” the other boy, Parkinson, he was pretty sure he was called, replied in a sulky tone._

_“He did too, he called my mother a muggle whore!” The Gryffindor shouted, trying to swing a blow at the other boy._

_“Five points from Gryffindor for trying to hit a student, five points from Slytherin for picking fights about blood status!” Tom yelled over the clamor, drawing the attention of the rest of the students around them. Some of the Slytherins were blinking at him in confusion, but dared not say anything. For what it was worth, the Gryffindor seemed content with this and nodded his head dutifully._

_“Don’t you lot have classes,” Tom called to the students hanging around them. As the corridor began to move with the flow of students once more, Tom shouldered his bag and slipped to the edge, out of the way from being trampled._

_“Having fun?” Mulciber asked, suddenly appearing at his side._

_“I’m about to strangle all of the second years,” Tom muttered, heading towards Charms._

_“And none of the first years?” He asked with a laugh._

_“They have bigger things to worry about than a weird Slytherin prefect.” Tom said._

_“And we have bigger things to worry about without you taking points from our own house,” Mulciber said quietly, grabbing Tom’s arm and pulling him to a halt. “Malfoy’s starting shit, we need to put a cap on it before the seventh years get uppity, or there’s gonna be a power struggle.”_

_“And what would you have me do, oh guru of hierarchy knowledge,” Tom asked, giving a heavy sigh._

_“Challenge him to a duel in the common room,” Mulciber suggested and Tom gave him a long look. “No, I’m actually serious, Abraxas is pretty shit with Defense, for all his big talk about knowledge of curses, and you could sweep the ground with him. I’ll loan you one of my books on curses and counter curses.”_

_“How angry do you think Slughorn is going to be when he finds out I took five points off of my own house?” Tom asked, only slightly curious. If he had to duel that Malfoy prat to get him to be quiet, then he’d do it, and with Mulciber backing him as his second, then he wasn’t really worried about it._

_“Ha, that’s funny, be mad at you? Heir of Slytherin, Tom Golden-Boy Riddle? I think not.” Mulciber said with a small smirk, taking a step towards the Charms classroom. “Sluggy would sooner shit his crystallized pineapples than get mad at you.”_

* * *

 

One of the few perks about having the job of a professor, along with being an elder man, was that he was rarely scolded or spoken down to. At least until he was forced to sit through a horrid meeting with their supposed Minister of Magic and a horrible woman in bright pink who looked remarkably like a toad. She felt familiar, and while it was likely they’d simply been at Hogwarts together, he couldn’t recall her name.

The reason they were there, they being himself, Albus, the minister, and the pink-toad woman, was because Lucius was supposedly appalled at the “brutal” attack his son experienced at the hands of a certain Mr. Potter. To be perfectly honest he would have been content to sit the entire thing out but he’d been forced into attendance in his free period and he was stuck until the elder Malfoy released them all.

“Now Dumbledore, we just don’t see the need for such risky behaviors in the classroom,” Fudge was saying and Tom rolled his eyes for the upteenth time.

“I’m sorry, but I am supposed to be teaching ‘Defense Against the Dark Arts,’” Tom finally interrupted with a drawl that would have put Severus to shame. “Am I supposed to be teaching them how to knit horrid pink sweaters with kittens on them?”

He smirked at the toad woman bristled and gave him a dirty look. Fudge was getting irritable and climbed back up on his high horse again. “A student was harmed on the very first day of classes, Dumbledore-”

“And subsequently healed,” Tom reminded the Minister.

“If he hadn’t been partnered with such a volatile monster there wouldn’t have been an accident,” Lucius said with a sneer, again. It felt like they were just running in circles now. They’d accuse, Tom would offer an explanation, and they’d accuse again.

“Mr. Potter is not volatile, considering your son had been pegging him with a tennis ball the majority of the class. I saw with my own eyes that your son deliberately threw the ball out of the way, likely in an attempt to make his partner fetch it.” Tom said, slowly tipping his chair back, which earned a disapproving glance from Albus.

“There is no need to be teaching students in this manner,” the toad said stiffly, trying to sound as if she was concerned for the students and disgusted with Tom, “A theoretical study should suffice.”

“Oh yes because if one is mugged on the street perhaps you can recite the definition aloud and hope it fend them off,” Tom finally snapped, slamming the chair back to the ground with a loud crack that seemed to startle the minister. “You encouraged Alastor Moody, a highly renowned paranoid auror to teach students hands on and yet I have them learning basic second year defense and you’re making complaints.”

“Moody never harmed a student,” Lucius said with a sneer, which brought a loud laugh from Tom.

“Because dragging Mr. Potter up to a room and trying to kill him isn’t harming a student in the least. Oh wait, that wasn’t Alastor Moody because it was actually Barty Crouch Jr. Because that worked out so well as a teacher.”

A hush fell on the room and Tom folded his arms. “I was hired to teach students how to defend themselves. And that is what I shall do.”

Fudge looked like a he was about to suffer an aneurysm and the toad woman looked like he’d just told her he’d killed several kittens.

“Well, that is unfortunate,” Lucius drawled, and Fudge nodded his head. The hair on the back of Tom’s neck stood on end and he didn’t like the look that Lucius was giving Fudge. Not at all.

“Given your lack of cooperation,” Fudge said tightly, pulling a bit of parchment from inside his robe, “The board of Governors has decided that an evaluation of all of the professors currently employed by Hogwarts is necessary.”

Tom watched as the minister handed Albus the parchment, and his light blue eyes were unreadable.

“And who will be deciding that a professor is actually performing adequately?” Tom asked hesitantly, looking at Lucius. He was clearly the ring leader here, Fudge acting as a puppet rather than the leader of the Wizarding World.

“Madam Umbridge, of course,” Lucius replied with a tight smile. “She graciously offered her services.”

The bottom of Tom’s stomach felt to drop out, and the tightness in his chest indicated he was on the verge of another panic attack. He swallowed tightly and nodded. Of course they’d send someone malicious, for if she had a single good bone in her body he’d eat the Sorting Hat.

“Well, given the Governors have made a decision, we shall honor it,” Albus said, lower the parchment to his desk and giving the group a warm smile. It looked genuine enough, but Tom had known Albus long enough to know the man wanted nothing more than to obliviate these idiots and send them on their merry way. “Now, if you don’t mind, I believe Professor Riddle has a class to get ready for.”

Tom nodded numbly and made his leave, not without catching sight of the slight flinch Lucius gave at mention of his name. Served him right, the bastard.

Without thinking, Tom headed straight to the staff room. He was running on auto-pilot and the panic was seizing hold once more. The Ministry was getting involved at Hogwarts, something he would have once said was unheard of. Lucius controlled the Minister, but Voldemort controlled Malfoy, and a great many other families, apparently. Even as Fudge denied the man’s return he was being controlled and manipulated by his very followers. It was completely maddening. He sank into a chair and felt his breaths run a bit ragged.

“Are you alright?”

Tom nearly had a heart attack and gripped the arms of the chair tightly in his grasp. He turned his head to see Filius tucked into the corner of the room.

“I was until you did that,” Tom gasped, rubbing his face and trying to straighten out his breathing. It was like there were heavy weights on his lungs and his chest was tightening.

“No you weren’t, you were panicking long before you entered the room,” the man said sagely.

“The Board of Governors has ordered a review of all the professors at Hogwarts, to be performed by a member of the Ministry.” Tom explained.

Filius tensed, and gave a short nod. He knew as well as Tom what that exactly meant. The Ministry was going to try and root out those in Hogwarts who were “corrupting” the students, more likely than not, given the knowledge he’d heard from the Order over the summer. He’d thought it completely ridiculous that the Ministry might be worried about Albus building an army, especially of students, but now it seemed it was true.

It had been too much to hope for when he’d had a quite Tuesday and now it appeared Wednesday was blowing up in his face. Perhaps Thursday would bring a plague. He should have realized the rain on Monday had brought a certain sense of foreboding when it carried on as long as it had. Now he’d have to head off and teach the third year Gryffindor-Slytherin class and hope he didn’t have a panic attack in front of them all. He was considering talking to Pomfrey about it, but wasn’t sure how he felt in confiding in anyone about the thoughts that continued to plague his mind.

But no bit of luck was on his side that day. One of the Slytherins tried cursing her partner, none too subtly and he was forced to take twenty points from what he still considered his own house and spent the last ten minutes of his class testing different counter-curses on the girl.

At lunch he was relieved to find the toad woman was yet among their numbers, and he wondered if perhaps she’d be joining them that evening. He shuddered at the thought, drumming his fingers along one of the books. He’d return to Grimmauld Place that weekend and see if Sirius could assist him in looting the Black Library, because he was very nearly done with the few things he’d pulled from the place. There wasn’t much magic that could be done with one’s soul as it often resulted in one’s own death if performed incorrectly. More often than not the risks outweighed the reward and as such there was little actual reading. Tom frowned and pushed some of the food around on his plate, making it appear he’d eaten more than he had.

Slytherin’s personal library was probably long since moved, no doubt Voldemort had found it in a manner similar to Tom. The library itself had been located in one of the old Slytherin castles located in Wales, though he also wondered if perhaps it had been moved to another one of Salazar’s old haunts. None of them were actually owned by the heirs of the Slytherin family any longer, unless in this world Voldemort had bought them, or simply killed their owners and took them back.

He took solace in teaching the second years because they were still so young and the fact that they were a Gryffindor-Ravenclaw class eased his frayed nerves a bit. He was going to have hair like Albus before the year was through.

As the last class of the day slowly filtered in, he pointed his wand towards the chalkboard and the fifth years groaned as they moved to sit with their assigned partners. He was pleased to see that Draco had finally taken the bandages off his face and was wearing a smug grin, no doubt having heard from his father what was to occur.

“Our first section will cover curses and counter-curses, though I would like to preclude our lesson with a few words about subjects I intentionally neglected to cover last class.” Mostly because he liked the first lesson to be enjoyable, rather than starting with a mountain of theory and lectures about exams and O.W.L.s, something no doubt the rest of their professors had headed each class with. “I won’t spend much time stressing to you the importance of your O.W.L.s because I know each and everyone of your professors has already done this. Your O.W.L.s are important because the grade you receive in them will determine what classes you will be allowed to take in your sixth and seventh years. However, I am confident that if you can pass my midterm and final, you will do well on your O.W.L.s.” A sort of hush fell over the class as friends exchanged glances and other winced at the implications that his exams would be as difficult as the standardized test.

“You will only have two tests in my class.” Tom said, taking a seat on his desk. Some of the students perked up a bit at this. “For any of you who actually read the syllabus you will know the only exams you will have from me is your midterm and your final, both of which will be two parts, theory and practical. As fifth years your practicals will encompass monitored duels with your partner which I will grade you on.” A few interested glances between partners were shared here, some with hostility, others with curiosity.

“The rest of your class grade will be based solely on class participation.” He slipped off the desk and to his feet. “In my class you are not Slytherins and Gryffindors. You are all students of Hogwarts and you must work together. If not, you will fail this class.”

Some of the students bore their gaze into him, understanding the reason he was doing this, even if they weren’t completely pleased with it. Hermione in particular was shooting a smirk in his direction while the glares from Draco and Daphne were clearly meant to take up his order as a challenge.  

And so his class began. This go round there was far fewer jabs and smart remarks as the grade-conscious students tried to act civil with their partners. Of course the same couldn’t be said for all the students, especially in Draco and Harry’s case, but at east Harry seemed to be refusing to retaliate to Draco’s harsh words. Altogether though, it was better than he’d expected it to be, and as the class drew to an end he gestured for Potter to hang back, and he wasn’t truly surprised to see Ron and Hermione by the door waiting for him.

“I have the strangest feeling that anything I say to you will be instantly be conveyed to your friends, so they wish to join us.”

“Join us?” Harry asked, motioning for his friends to come in towards them.

“Why don’t you take a seat, I have some questions for you,” Tom said, moving around his desk and pulling the diary out of his bag. Harry’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the battered and stained journal. “Albus tried to inform me of all the strange occurrences that passed in your time here, but I feel it pales in comparison to a first hand account.”

Ron was smirking now, and elbowing the black haired boy, and Harry just looked sheepish. Tom handed him the journal and Potter turned it over in his hands before giving a short nod.

The next hour was taken up by tea and biscuits with the trio taking turns describing all the madness of their first four years of schooling. Ron seemed the most flamboyant with his descriptions, often over exaggerating, while Harry downplayed all of his achievements and Hermione recalled everything with precise detail. When he’d heard their first year, he didn’t think the second or third or fourth could compare, but each time they proved him wrong, The first year Harry had gone up against Quirrell possessed by Voldemort. Their second year Ginevra Weasley had become possessed by Voldemort and opened the Chamber of Secrets and unleashed, which he had vaguely known about. What he hadn’t known about was that Harry had actually spoken with the bit of soul that had been in the diary, both by writing to it, seeing one of its memories, and then finally talking to it in the Chamber. This was even more troubling because there was no chance the soul had been masquerading as a younger self, from the way Potter had described. Third year had brought no activity from Voldemort, but rather the great escape of Sirius Black from Azkaban, which basically had left Voldemort a year to prepare for the shit storm which had been Harry Potter’s fourth year of schooling. Then Potter went through the ritual in great detail, skimming over the death of Diggory. If Voldemort had split apart his soul to put it in the diary at such a young age, how many times might he have done it? Was the Voldemort from Harry’s first year the same Voldemort that had been raised from the dead in the year previous?

“Are you trying to figure out how to stop him?” Harry asked.

“Isn’t Dumbledore already trying to do that?” Ron muttered, looking from his best friend to Tom.

“The diary ties into it all, that much I’m certain,” Tom said, taking the diary back from Harry, who’d been gripping tightly onto the small black book all while telling his tale.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, leaning forward, her eyes shining eagerly.

“I’m not certain just yet. How it sounds, the diary contained a piece of Voldemort’s soul, and a piece of his soul also latched onto Quirrel. There’s no way to know for certain if all the pieces are connected or when their were separated if they became cut off from each other completely. The bit Harry faced in his first year may or may not be the same soul that gained a body this past summer, but it might be another bit of his soul.”

“So, wait, you’re saying a bunch of pieces of You-Know-Who’s soul are floating about?” Ron asked with something akin to horror on his face.

“So he’s done this more than once? Split up his soul?” Hermione pressed.

“Splitting one’s soul can be a fatal process. It’s not even common among knowledge of Dark magic. This is the darkest of the dark, worse than curses, drinking unicorn blood, casting Unforgivables. Your soul is your very essence. Many have theorized its tied to your magical core. One’s soul isn’t a tangible organ, like a heart or a lung, it’s very hard to study something you can’t see or feel, something that isn’t consistent.” Tom explain steadily. Once he’d think it ridiculous to speak on a subject as dark as this to his fifth year students, but now he had no doubt in his mind that Potter had a right to know what he was going up against, and given that Hermione was a bright young witch she’d likely have some input on his ideas.

“How does one split their soul?” Hermione asked and Ron made an unpleasant face at the idea.

“It’s not exactly something you can look up in just any book. This weekend Sirius and I are going to scour the Black library to see if anything about it is in there.” Tom leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “In the mean time, I need you three to start trying to form connections to your partners.”

Ron made a scoff of protest and Hermione nodded her head obediently. “It’s not going to be easy getting them to trust us.”

“Why do we want them to trust us?” Ron demanded, “Their parents are a bunch of Death Eaters!”

“You’re a bunch of children,” Tom snapped with irritation, “You shouldn’t having to be picking a side in a war. Your partners, the Slytherins, your fellow Gryffindors, every student in this school. you’re not your parents. They’re not their parents. Draco Malfoy, for all his pretending, is not Lucius, and you are no Arthur, and Hermione, while I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting your parents, I’m sure you are not them, either of them.”

“Have you ever met Lucius Malfoy, Draco is like a little miniature of him,” Harry said bitterly.

“But he’s not. Not really. You’re all getting caught up in this madness of picking sides and the upcoming war and the past war and these mad rivalries that you’re forgotten about those on the other side being people. Other children just like you.” Tom suddenly became aware that his voice was rising and he closed his mouth into a thin line and began rubbing his temple.

“You were taught that you had the freedom to make your own choices in life, and to forge your own paths, but these rivalries of yours, tradition is all they know. To them there is no choice. The only option is to follow the path of their parents,” Tom tried to explain more calmly.

“You’re trying to get them to join our side,” Hermione said with a smile, slightly breathless with excitement.

“No,” Tom interjected, shaking his head, “That, right there, that’s the problem, its not our side and their side. That’s the attitude that’s gotten us to this point.” With a sigh, Tom stood, ready to dismiss the trio to dinner. “Maybe the opposite will save us.”


	14. The Croaking Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay so, finals are done and I'm trying to get caught up on roleplaying and thesis and Christmas stuff, but since I had nothing to do at work today, I spat this one out. I may or may not get another one out this weekend, if not, it be next week for sure. 
> 
> I've headcanoned Harry as being a parselmouth even without Voldy's horcrux, and when I imagined Tom cursing in parseltongue, I knew it had to be put into the fic, because go figure Harry is the only person in the school who knows all the naughty words that Professor keeps hissing. 
> 
> Also, yes, Sirius sneaks out of Grimmauld place at night in his animagi form. This was mentioned because it is relevent.

_When he would get really frustrated, Tom generally cursed in parseltongue. Why? None of his students could hear him or understand him. Except for Lilith, but she did the same thing so it was fine. And partly because of this habit of his to break off into parseltongue, everyone, ever the incoming first years, knew who he was, and that he was a parselmouth._

_“I swear by Merlin’s sagging ball sack-” Tom snapped off in parseltongue, pulling two first years who’d come to blows apart. “Ten points from Slytherin and Gryffindor for fighting!” He snapped viciously, “And no, Mr. Malfoy, I don’t care who started it or why it was started, you both,” he said, holding onto Weasley and Goyle by the robes, “Will serve detention tonight with me.”_

_“But professor! Goyle called Granger a-” Weasley protested loudly._

_“I don’t care what who called whom, you should have fetched a professor instead of decking the boy!” Tom snapped and turned to catch the sight of the rest of the first years lingering in the hall. Weasley’s friend, Harry Potter, who was damn near the spitting image of his father, was staring at him with a look of awe and confusion. Not that he really understood why he was looking at him like that, but he wasn’t really paying attention to anything but keeping Goyle and Weasley from jumping on each other again._

_“Did he really just, you know?” He heard Potter asked Longbottom, who gave him a weird look. In fact that caught Tom’s attention because while the muggleborns might have no prior knowledge of him, Riddle was certain James would have told his son anything and everything about Hogwarts._

_“Dad said he was a parselmouth,” Longbottom replied with a shrug and Potter’s face scrunched up in confusion. “But he said-”_

_The light bulb went off in Tom’s head and he turned to stare at James and Lily Potter’s son with a truly confused expression. “Mr. Potter, can you understand what I am saying right now?” Tom asked quietly, hissing out the words slowly and clearly._

_“I- yeah, why?” Potter said, his brows pressing together in confusion. Tom could audibly hear his jaw drop as he stared at the Potter heir._

_Harry Potter was a Parselmouth._

* * *

 

Tom honestly couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to hex someone this badly. Madam Umbridge had squeezed herself into a spot at the staff table, earning confused glances from the students and irritated ones from the rest of the staff. Luckily, she wasn’t that close to himself, only two chairs down, closer to Severus and Aurora. She seemed to be either impervious or straight out ignoring the hostility of the staff around her. No matter what any of their “personal” opinions might be on Albus, Harry or the Voldemort bit, none of them liked the idea of the ministry becoming involved at Hogwarts more than it already was.

Albus waited until most of the Great Hall was filled, all the students splitting their attention between the food before them and the toad woman in pink. Tom reclined slightly in his chair, watching as Albus rose slowly to his feet, drawing the attention of everyone in the hall.

“Good evening! Hopefully you’ve been enjoying your first week of classes! Before we all become immersed into our meal, I’d like to make an announcement.” Turning to gesture in Umbridge’s direction, down the staff table, the toad stood, though that did little for seeing her, given how short she was.

“Madam Umbridge will be joining us for the semester at the request of the Board of Governors, and will be evaluating the staff and their classes. She’ll likely be in a few of your class sessions and will ask your questions about your tutelage here at Hogwarts, so please answer honestly.” Albus ended his little bit and began to take a seat once more, the students looking at the new “staff” member, or whatever they would be expected to call her. But the toad hadn’t sat down and letting out an annoying clear of the throat before putting on a fake grin to the student population. Staff didn’t exactly add on to Albus’s speeches, so the entire hall turned to either glare at her or stare at her with puzzlement, save some of the more polite staff, such as Albus and Filius, Pomfrey and the like, who straightened and gave her a small half smile, staring at her as though they were delighted to hear her little speech.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Professor Umbridge said, “for those kind words of welcome.” The way she spoke made Tom’s hair stand on edge, and he turned to catch Harry’s eyes in the crowd of gold and maroon on the far side of the Hall.

Umbridge cleared her throat again with a loud, “Hem, hem,” and then continued on. “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!”

Forced to wonder how long he was going to have to listen to this, Tom resisted the urge to sink lower in his chair and instead focused on all the reasons he could not set her pink cardigan on fire. He would be fired. He’d be arrested. He’d likely never have a chance at helping the Order defeat Voldemort and he’d likely never be able to find a way home.

Despite this, he still tensed up in irritation when she cleared her throat, yet again, and continued on in a breathy voice, the complete opposite of the voice he’d heard earlier that afternoon. Luckily, even the Slytherins, who’d been looking rather smug about the entire thing, now seemed to be bristling with irritation at being addressed like small children.

“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!” Another throat clear and some of the students were now trading glances and Tom wanted to gesture in Draco’s general direction and blame it all on him. To be perfectly honest though, it wasn’t likely to any fault of Draco. With the speed Lucius and Fudge had gotten approval from the Board, Tom had no doubts Lucius had been planning to do this all along.

“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance.” Gone was the breathy, high-pitched tone. Suddenly she sounded like a harsh school marm discussing something with her pupils. “The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”

She paused her speech and turned to bow to the professors on either side of her, but all she received was cool glares and one or two polite nods. Tom grabbed the bridge of his nose when she gave yet another “hem, hem,” and continued on in her blasted speech.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation …”

Students began talking then, quietly, but loud enough to make a slight buzz in the hall and in an effort to not strangle the woman, Tom, let his gaze fall to them. Clearly most of them simply took the woman as a joke while a few others were shooting worried looks and speaking quietly to classmates with serious looks on their faces, aware what this would mean. “

… because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

Tom almost groaned with relief when she finally sat down. He hadn’t been that distracted from another adult since his school years. He brought up a slow clap when Albus started up. Given how few students had actually been listening, it took a few long moments for the applause to fill the hall.

As the clapping quickly died off, Albus took up his own plate, signalling the rest that it was time for dinner. Tom found himself lacking an appetite and instead pushed the food around the plate for a few moments before pulling one of his books out. Dinner went by without any other incident and he managed to polish off half of his plate without feeling ill about it.

It was only Wednesday, and the week wasn’t near done yet, but instead of pacing around his quarters in anxiousness, Tom threw some of the floo powder into the fire place. If the ministry was putting Umbridge in to watch the professors, he had little doubt that they were watching the floo network as well. Instead he stepped into the fire and called for the Leaky Cauldron.

He had enough waiting to look into the soul bit, even though it’d only been a few days. A few days were a lot, considering there was a man with bits of his soul spread every which way and the sooner he figured out the bigger picture the sooner he might get to go home. He apparated from the Cauldron to Grimmauld Place, and let himself inside.

However, much to his surprise, it was silent in the house. He doubted Sirius was asleep and yet was unable to located him when he poked around the Black home. Had he slipped out? Not that he was supposed to, given he was a wanted criminal and Albus and Remus has specifically told him he wasn’t supposed to leave Grimmauld Place. Then again, the man was an animagi and if he was out in his dog form, he’d be safe from authorities, but likely not Death Eater.

“The filthy mongrel isn’t home,” came a voice behind him, and Tom let out a loud noise of distress. He’d forgotten about Kreacher, the decrepit house elf that belonged to the Black family. When he’d regained his composure he nodded his head.

“Is there any chance you’d know where he is, Kreacher?” Tom asked, looking down at the old elf.

“Blood traitor tells Kreacher to stay in the house until he gets back,” Kreacher said with irritation and a bit sullenly and Tom nodded with a sigh, “right.”

While not the most stable, Sirius was a grown man and had the right to make decisions (even if they were horrible decisions) on his own, and Tom sympathised with the fact that he was locked up in the ancestral home all day every day with no escape or reprieve. So he slipped into the library, and left Kreacher to whatever it was he’d do while Sirius was gone. Skipping the first shelf, which he and Sirius had already ransacked, he began diving into the rest of the shelves, ignoring the chimes of the clock as the night began to slowly tick by.

The Black Library, like many libraries within older British Wizarding families, held many interesting books, not all dark magic. Grimoires and diaries with self invented spells grabbed his attention for a few moments to skim over, but then he was back to the task of looking through any and all book for any mention of soul magic. Piles began to stack up around him as the night work one, organized by general topic of the book, but only two books thus far had held any mention of soul splitting magic, and one of those refused to mention the process, though it had provided him with the official term.

Horcrux. Ghastly word. Now his search expanded to include that as well as soul splitting, though the search was slow going. The second book he found mentioned something about the storage of the parts of souls, which made sense given the diary. Clearly that had been it’s vessel, though he was confused as to how one killed a soul housed in an inanimate object.

It was around three in the morning when Tom realized he could hear something, or someone, in Grimmauld Place and the library doors opened to reveal Sirius. Kreacher must have said something to him about his presence, because the younger man did not appear to be on the defense about his house being occupied. The ruffled man took a seat in one of the high backed chairs and and looked about at the mess Tom had made of the library.

“How long have you been here?” He asked, picking up one of the books from a stack.

Tom paused and threw another book into the stack for hexes and curses before turning around to shrug at the man. “Around ten, I believe, so four or five hours.”

“And you didn’t run off to Albus when you realized I wasn’t around?” Sirius asked with a smirk, “Knew I liked you.”

“While it was highly irresponsible, you are a grown man who is allowed to make his own mistakes and decisions and I have no right to take that from you,” Tom said, flipping through another book. He was barely done with half a quarter of the library and the floor was already covered with books. Waving his wand, the books slid back into place on the shelves in their new order he’d given them, save for a few he’d pulled out for himself to peruse.

“I just took a walk around London,” Sirius muttered quietly, then cleared his throat (which made Tom twitch just a bit) and continued on in a normal tone, “Still looking for things about soul splitting?”

“One of your books gave it a name,” Tome said with a nod, pointing to the stack of books he’d pulled out for himself on a nearby table. “Horcrux, s was the fragment of the soul is called. Apparently they generally get stored in a vessel of some kind.”

“How and why would someone want to split their soul?” Sirius asked, reclining back in the chair and watching as Tom ripped more books off the shelf.

“Not too sure on the how, but apparently the why is because when your soul is stored elsewhere, you can’t be truly killed.” Throwing a book onto the floor to mark the placement of a pile, he raised his eyebrows. “Sound familiar?”

“So, you think Voldemort split his soul?”

“Actually, Albus and I think he may have done it several times over, which apparently is not recommended for one’s mental health.” Tom said with a mock sigh.

“And do we have any idea where any of these vessels might be?” Sirius asked.

Still pouring over the book in his hand, Tom reached into his bag and chucked the destroyed diary in Sirius’s direction. “That’s one right there, Harry got it without realizing what it was in his second year and stabbed it with a basilisk fang.”

“And, how exactly did he get a hold of a basilisk fang?” Sirius demanded, looking up from the journal with worry etched on his face.

“From the basilisk he killed in the Chamber of Secrets.” Toms aid matter-of-factly, not really thinking about the fact that Sirius might not have known about all of his Godson’s adventures before they’d met.

“I- what?” Sirius asked a bit shrilly.

Tom blinked and looked up and shrugged, “Ask him, that’s what I did.” Turning back to the book, Tom threw it onto another spot on the floor and moved onto the next book.

“Wouldn’t you have some idea what he’d make his vessels?” Sirius asked, quickly putting aside the fact that Harry had killed a Basilisk.

“We don’t hold the same values, Voldemort and I. The diary must have meant more to him or was just his first attempt that actually worked, because I rarely wrote in my diary. There’s the Gaunt ring, but there’s no way to know if he had actually wanted the ring given his disdain of the Gaunt home and how he let it continue to rot.”

“The Gaunts?” Sirius asked, standing up and joining him in pulling books off the shelves.

“Our mother, Merope Gaunt, direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin.” Tom explained offhandedly. “Hmm, besides that, I’m not quite sure. I value my pocket watch that Albus gave me, but given Voldemort and Albus here aren’t close, he wouldn’t have received one.” Silence descended on them as they continued working and Tom knew stayed up this late was a horrible idea, but he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep.

“What about an animate object?” Sirius asked a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

“The book said inanimate,” Tom said.

“Yeah, but Harry mentioned once about this snake that Voldemort always keeps about. He sees it when they share visions and it was there with his all last year.”

“Putting part of your soul in another being can’t be a very practical thing. They’re easy to kill.” Tom reasoned.

Sirius went quiet again and Tom sighed as the clock struck four. “I should probably head back. I’ll just apparate to the gates.” He grabbed his bag and shoved the books into it.

“I’ll keep looking tomorrow and send you a message if I find anything.” Sirius said, walking Tom out of the library.

“You don’t have to-”

“I really don’t have anything better to do.” Sirius reminded him.

“Right, that’s fine then. Thanks.”

“Nah, we’re even, just don’t tell Dumbledore I’ve been leaving,” He said, clapping Tom on the shoulder.

As one could expect after only getting a couple hours of sleep, Tom looked like death the next morning, a large mug of black coffee in his hand, large dark circles under his eyes and his hair ruffled up in all the wrong places. The students steered clear of his path as to not knock the mug from him as he climbed the stairs back to his classroom the following morning after eating a few bites of food and fetching his drink. His first class, bless their blithering souls, was his second year Hufflepuff and Slytherin class.

A line of young bleary-eyed students had already formed outside the door to his classroom and they shuffled out of the way so he could unlock the door and let them all into the room.

And he would have been fine if the Slytherins and the Hufflepuffs had kept the volume down and simply gone over the shield spells and then cover some of the magical creatures that he would have taught them in their first year had he been around.

But no, his day couldn’t have been that simply. As the class settled down, what came through his door but the horrible pink toad with her simpering “hem hem!” Tom resisted every inclination to hex the woman and throw her down into the Chamber to rot because he was supposed to be the good Tom Riddle, not the one who went around murdering people simply because they were utterly and intolerantly infuriating him.

“Hello Professor Riddle!” She said in that high-pitched falsetto voice that made him want to strangle owlets. “Did you receive my letter this morning? I attached it to the door.”

Tom blinked and looked at the door, which was still propped open, the unopened parchment still stuck to the door. He’d completely missed it, though he was unsure if he’d missed it on accident or on purpose. The rest of the students were shuffling in their seats, clearly aware that their professor was not in a good mood and that the glares he was shooting at Madame Umbridge probably meant they should stay quiet and out of the way.

“As you can see I did not.” He answered quietly, taking a sip from his mug.

“Yes well, the Minister wanted me to be prompt in my teacher evaluation,” She answered with her sickly sweet voice and as she walked further into the room, Tom was made very aware of the sheer height difference between him and her. He gained some sort of twisted pleasure in watching her crane her head up to look at him as she approached. “You do not have an objection, of course?” She asked, the tilt on the sentence implying it to be a question.

“Of course not, Madame.” He said curtly. And with that he dismissed her existence and began pretended she didn’t exist. Out of the corner of his eye he could see she had taken a seat in the back corner of the class, watching all the students in front of them. She glanced at the paired students and made a few scribbles on a clipboard she pulled from within her robe.

He took another long gulp of the bitter coffee and straightened, raising a hand to run it through his hair now that he was awake enough to care about such things. He’d skip the shield spells, given what he’d remembered of Umbridge and her view on the “practical application” of spells in class.

“Given the year prior your professor did not go over any of the magical creatures I would have expected, we’ll spend this class going over some of them, the habitats one might find them in, their prey or what they thrive on, and how to defend yourself against them.” The Hufflepuffs deflated more visibly than the Slytherins, who were giving looks at Umbridge. There was a clattering of noise as students began pulling out parchment, quills and ink. “Please take adequate notes because I will be assigning presentations on certain creatures to each pair to do presentations on in class. I’ll pass out the details of the assignment next class.”

No groans echoed the room and instead he received a few nods. Besides the scribbling and scratching of the quills on parchment and his own voice, it was quiet in the room. Occasionally a student would raise a hand to ask a question about what he was explaining, but for the most part, the class was quiet.

“- Therefore it’s unknown if the Bean Nighe is native only to Scotland, but it is far more common for a Grim to be spotted in the English moors.”

The class was drawing to an end and everyone was getting restless, so he was surprised when one of the Hufflepuff girls raised her hand. “Do the grim’s really protect death? How do you know if it isn’t just a black dog?”

“My grandmother saw a grim and she died later that day,” one of the Slytherin boys mumbled.

“It’s been proven to have once been a real creature,” Tom confirmed, “though it’s speculated to have shape-shifting abilities. As to if they’re still around today, there’s no certain answer.” He paused and pulled out his watch. “Right, bell will ring in a few minutes. For reading I’d like you and your partner to go check out some books on wild magical creatures and start deciding on ones you might like to do for your presentation and next week I’ll hand out a paper with all the details for the project. Class dismissed.” The chairs scraped on the floor as the students began clearing out and he froze and tensed up something horrible when he heard a loud “hem, hem!”

He turned slowly and glowered at the woman. “Yes, Madam Umbridge?”

“I have a few questions for you, if you would Professor Riddle,” She said in a mock-happy tone. “It will only take a few minutes.”

Tom looked at his watch and then nodded. “As you wish, Madam.”

She held up her board gleefully and Tom folded her arms across his chest.

“Now then, you were just hired for this position, correct?” She asked, quill poised.

“That is correct.” Tom replied with a drawl.

“And it was Professor Dumbledore who offered you the position?” She asked as she wrote something down on her clipboard. Due to their extreme height difference, Tom was able to see the words “Unkempt, lectures informally” and “obviously new to teaching position.”

“And what was your occupation before this?” She asked, oblivious to the glare Tom was giving her or the way he was tightening his grip around his pocket watch.

“Private tutor for families.” He answered shortly.

“Here in Great Britain?” She asked sweetly as she made another note.

“No, America,” he replied crisply.

“And were you recommended to Dumbledore?” She frowned, making a note again.

“I had applied for the position once before when I was younger.” He said with a small smile. She might had believed it to be reminiscent of an earlier time, but it was really about the fact that this part was indeed not a lie.

“Well, you’ll receive the results at a later date.” She said, turning on her heel when she finished writing, and walked out of his classroom. Tom reached up and rubbed his brow.


	15. Piecing Together the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the way delayed update. This is one of those things that I'm doing for fun so I don't really have like a set writing schedule. I'm planning to try and put out a few more chapters, but then I'm going to take this for an overhaul. I've noticed that a lot of my inconsistencies come from the fact that I need to fully establish all of Tom childhood and Hogwarts years. I'm going to be taking the chapter heads and making a prequel story about Tom and his life, so that I will be able to reference back to it much better, then I'll be to rewrite and edit this current story and fix up a lot of things.

_When Professor Dumbledore touched the wand to the different bricks in the back end alley behind the pub, Tom was suspicious. Despite the warm greetings the elder man had received in the pub, he was all too aware of how insane they looked standing out in an alleyway._

_But after the professor pulled his wand away, he took a step back and watched as Tom stared in amazement as the bricks rearranged themselves into an archway, leading to a large and crowded street. There had been plenty of funny dressed people in the pub, but that could have been an isolated incident. Here in the street though, everyone was wearing robes or fashion styles that appeared outdated by several decades._

_“This is Diagon Alley, Tom,” Professor Dumbledore said with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes. Tom stared in wonder. The lights in the windows and all the items on display didn’t remind him of grungy London in the least, though if anything it made him reminiscent of Christmas time._

_“And the school is paying for my supplies?” He asked again, looking to his list and then back to the Professor. A part of him worried that they’d get into the shops and Professor Dumbledore would leave him._

_“Yes, though we will be visiting the second hand shops. You will, however, be purchasing a new wand. Hogwarts takes a strong stance in finding a wand that bonds to you, or else your performance is substandard.” He said, and Tom nodded, not really certain what to even say or do._

_“We’ll be heading to Ollivanders for your wand, but that’s at the end of the shops, so we’ll head through on the way and get what you’ll need.” Professor Dumbledore looked down to Tom. “Do you have your list?”_

_Tom held up the piece of paper, the envelope it had come in still tucked inside his shirt. He wasn’t willing to put either down anywhere lest he wake up and realize it was all just a dream. “Are you sure the school can pay for all this?” He asked carefully, his eyes moving over the paper. He’d need robes and uniforms for attending classes, and he also needed dragonhide gloves? And a pointed hat. There was also a book list, which he was actually the most excited to get his hands on, outside of his wand, because he’d be able to learn everything he needed to know about this world he’d been thrown into._

_“Of course, don’t worry about it. Ah, here, let’s start in the cauldron shop,” Professor Dumbledore said with a smile, leading Tom to the first store on the left, opening the door for the young boy. Another family was already examining cauldrons on the far wall and Tom hung behind the Professor as he asked the man behind the counter for a secondhand pewter cauldron. They paid and Tom took it from the professor._

_“Is all your currency in coins?” Tom asked, referring to the gold coins that the professor had handed to the man in the shop._

_“Yes, here.” Professor Dumbledore pulled a few coins from the pouch within his robes and handed them to Tom. There were three different types, the largest being the gold coins, the other two looking like silver and possible bronze. “There’s three different coins we use, the biggest one is called a galleon and is worth the most.” The professor went over the other two and then gave a rough estimation of a galleon to pound. Tom ran his fingers over the ridges that came from the serial number on the galleon before handing them back._

_“We’ll be able to put the rest of your supplies in the cauldron so you can carry them all,” Professor Dumbledore assured him, pocketing the coins back into his pouch and then frowned, “Oh yes, we’ll also need to pick up a trunk to keep your items stored in, as well as some basic supplies like quills and parchment.”_

_“Yes, sir,” Tom said dutifully, holding the cauldron in both hands. It wasn’t quite as heavy as it looked, but it wasn’t light either._

_“Now we’ll head over to the Apothecary across the way and get your scales and phials. Your potions professor will supply any ingredients you might need for the class.” The elder man led the way across the street and as Tom stepped into the small shop, he blinked into the darkness. It went very much like this for the next few shops._

_Professor Dumbledore seemed to know the list, as he didn’t ask Tom what was on it, and instead helped him pick out some glass phials and a set of scales, and then some rolls of parchment, quills and ink and notebooks from the stationary shop, and a telescope from a shop that sold all sort of devices for Astronomy and even some self stirring cauldrons and other objects Tom couldn’t place._

_Most of the people seemed to know the professor and greeted him fondly. The man behind the counter at the magical instrument store even went out of his way to tell Tom how much he missed Hogwarts. Tom just nodded politely and wondered if this was going to be a normal experience. The bookstore was next and the man behind the counter found all of his textbooks. Secondhand, but despite this they were still in a far better condition than most of the books that they had at the Orphanage. Professor Dumbledore also slipped a book labelled Hogwarts, A History, into the pile._

_As they emerged onto the street, they continued on, past a large white and marble building with the words “Gringotts Wizarding Bank” embossed on the front, as well as a darker side street labelled with a faded sign “Knockturn Alley.”_

_“When you come of age, you’ll be able to get your own vault,” Professor Dumbledore explained and Tom looked to the bank and then back to the side street. The elder man caught his gaze and put a hand on his shoulder, “Knockturn Alley doesn’t offer any shops to cater to new students,” He said gently._

_Tom’s eyes narrowed and he looked up at the man. “Then who do they cater to?”_

_Professor Dumbledore didn’t answer and instead continued on, passing by some more shops, including something that specialized in divinations and another that seemed to be a pet shop of some kind. Tom frowned at the bottom of the letter and eyed the statement about bringing a either a cat, a toad, or an owl. Professor Dumbledore had explained that wizards used Owls and sometimes other birds for communication, so that and the cat made sense. What was the point of owning a toad?_

_They stepped into a secondhand robe shop and Tom was forced to exchange pleasantries with another girl being fitted. Not that she was completely unpleasant, but he wasn’t used to people trying to befriend him and he really didn’t want to talk about that fact that he was an orphan and no, his father wasn’t the man standing in the corner, obviously._

_“Books, robes cauldron, scales, phials, telescope, stationary,” the professor ticked off quietly as they left the secondhand robe store, “Besides the wand is there anything else we’ve missed?”_

_“You mentioned something about a trunk, sir,” Tom reminded him._

_“Ah, yes, I did. There’s a store across from Ollivanders’ that might have some, so we’ll get your wand and then see about the trunk.” Professor Dumbledore said, nodding to one of the last buildings on the row._

_Ollivanders’ was a thin building in comparison to the others they’d been in, and only had one window on the first floor. A bell chimed as they walked in and the pair hung back as a blond haired boy finished purchasing his own wand. He was a pudgy boy and his cheeks were bright pink and he was bouncing on his heels excitedly as his mother paid for it. A young blond man behind the counter was discussing the care of wands and Tom turned his attention to the rest of the shop. There was one small billboard that advertisements had been pinned to, but the rest of the shop, behind the counter and well into the back was filled with narrow shelves and boxes upon boxes stacked everywhere._

_“Professor Dumbledore!” The young man said, leaning on the counter in front of him. “Not here to drop off any more samples, are you?” The man asked excitedly._

_“Oh, no, no, Garrick, I’ve been rather busy as of late.” The professor replied, stepping up to the counter. Tom hung back for a moment, but felt the eyes of “Garrick” on him. He didn’t like feeling like he was being studied, so he raised his eyes and stared back at the man._

_“And what is your name, young man?” The shopkeeper asked, still leaning on the counter._

_“This is Tom Riddle. Tom, this is Garrick Ollivander, he’ll be helping you find a proper wand.” Professor Dumbledore gestured for Tom to step up to the desk, and he did, standing slightly on his toes to try and make himself feel taller and closer to being able to see clearly over the counter._

_“Now, let’s see,” Ollivander said, walking around the counter, drawing his wand and levitating a rolled up tape measure with silver markings alongside him. “Which is your wand arm?”_

_Wand arm? Probably was the same thing as which hand you favored when writing. “I can write with both hands,” He supplied and Ollivander gave him a smile._

_“Ambidextrous, impressive, well that gives you more choices, now stand still while I take your measurements.” The tape ran all over Tom and he held still as it measured his arms and then his body.  “Now of course there’s exceptions, but generally the length of one’s forearm and torso is indicative of the length and width of their wand, or at least so I’ve found,” Ollivander jotted down some numbers and walked away as he said this, disappearing amongst the shelves, but still talking to them past the boxes._

_“Now,” He called loudly from the back, “We’ll start you out with testing different cores, which,” He said, emerging with a large stack of boxes, “are made up of powerful magical substances. If you seem to get attached to one, then we’ll work out the wood type,” he set the boxes on the counter and opened one and held the wand aloft. “Beech-wood and kelpie hair, a favorite of my father’s. Ten and a quarter inches, springy. Give it a wave.”_

_He wasn’t quite sure how a wand might be springy, but he took the wand and waved it. When nothing happened he looked at the other man, and then to Professor Dumbledore._

_“No, no,” Ollivander snatched the wand from his hand and Tom stared at him skeptically as he rummaged through some more boxes. “Kelpie won’t do, oh here, this.” He pulled out a dark wand, “Chestnut, dragonheart string, eleven inches, flexible.”_

_Tom didn’t even have a chance to wave this wand because Ollivander was snatching it back before he’d even released it into Tom’s hand. Tom gave the man a glare, which went unnoticed by the shopkeeper._

_“Ash wood, twelve and a half, veela hair, whippy.” This wand actually burned slightly as the touch and Tom gratefully let it back into Ollivander’s hand. It continued like this for awhile, and the boxes piled up on the ground and the counter around them. The man ruled out over a dozen magical cores, from kneazle whiskers to unicorn and dittany, whatever those were, and eventually began circling back to test different woods he had yet to try. Tom was feeling a bit discouraged, but mostly annoyed given the man would barely let him touch half the wands before he was yanking them back, and not only this, it seemed to delight him._

_“This is getting more and more interesting!” The young man exclaimed, stacking some of the used wands back into a pile and behind the counter, “Er, oh, here it is!” He pulled another box out. “Oak, fourteen and three quarters inch, inflexible, dragon heartstring.”_

_Tom took this wand hesitantly, as he had been with the last batch, waiting for Ollivander to snap it back, only he didn’t. He gave the wand a slight wave and several of the boxes slid from the desk and the window behind him burst, shattering the trio in glass._

_“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Ollivander said as Professor Dumbledore waved his own wand, repairing the glass and restacking the boxes. “Hold on, I actually think I have it-” He disappeared among the shelves again. Tom carefully set down the wand on the counter back in the box and the Professor gave him an encouraging nod._

_“Here! Here it is!” The man exclaimed, coming out. “Yew, thirteen-and-a-half inches, very rigid, but features a phoenix feather.” He shoved the long wand into Tom’s hand and a sort of coolness seeped into his palm, the kind of relief you felt when you turned over a pillow in the middle of summer. When he waved the wand down through the air in front of him, the wand seemed to sing in his ears and an immense sense of happiness and belonging filled his chest. Silver sparks streamed from the tip and Tom couldn’t hold back a triumphant grin._

_The older men applauded him and he turned slightly to see Professor Dumbledore giving him a warm smile and a bright twinkle in his eye. Even as Ollivander began clearing the other wands from the counter and getting Tom’s rang up, Tom didn’t want to let go of it, but reluctantly let Ollivander wrap the wand back in its box. He held the box close as the professor paid the shopkeeper. The letter didn’t feel quite as important now, not with his wand in his hands. He wasn’t just some orphan. He was a wizard._

* * *

 

Nearly two weeks passed before Tom found himself knocking on the door to Severus’ rooms down in the dungeons. It felt horribly off kilter because only a few months before these had been his rooms. The second week of classes was drawing to an end and after devouring every book in the Black library that had even the slightest mention of soul magic, he found himself drawn to a man he’d once considered something of a son or nephew to himself, in the same way he had been to Albus.

There was also the fact the man avoided him like the plague, which of course had to do with their first disastrous meeting. Tom knew he’d reacted poorly, but he’s been a bit shell shocked and how Severus had responded to him had just been yet another hard punch to the gut to show how different this world was and how he had essentially lost everyone close to him in the span of a day.

There was a pause as the lock on the door turned and Severus opened the door, only to glare at him. Severus had always been a surly one, but moving out of his parents’ house and gaining his own employment had lightened his mood significantly. Sure, he was far from ever being any of the student’s favorite teacher, but he wasn’t universally despised as he was here.

Part of him wondered originally if this had been attributed to Lily’s death, as they’d always been close and assumed the same had happened here, but Remus had explained the pair had a fight during their later years at Hogwarts and they’d never reconciled.

“Severus,” Tom started, then paused as he reconsidered what to say. He’d always had to tread lightly with his wording with Severus, but now it was even more delicate than ever before. Which was his own fault.

“I would prefer Professor Snape,” the man said, continuing to glare. “Is there something you need Professor Riddle?”

Another punch to the gut, but instead of lashing out this time he nodded his head with understanding. “I wanted to apologize about our first meeting. I was out of sorts and I wouldn’t have reacted so…”

“Obscenely obtuse?” Severus sneered, leaning slightly against the door. They were almost the same height, Tom only having an inch or so on him, but despite this Severus was still trying to glare down his nose at the older man as he would with his students. The effect was almost endearing to Tom.

“Yes, obtuse is a decent enough word for it,” Tom said with a small smile. “I had no right to say something so personal about you in front of anyone else.”

Severus paused and stared the man up and down and Tom could feel the slightest nudge at his mind, but it quickly retreated.

“Sev- Professor Snape, do you think perhaps we might be able to start anew?” Tom asked, holding a hand out.

He didn’t take it. Severus stared at him with calculating eyes and any small hope that Tom had that the Severus Snape in front of him was the same one he once knew was gone, and he bowed his head slightly. “I understand.”

Suddenly, and quite desperately, Tom wondered how Severus had come to be this way, so incredibly different. He never recalled any fights beyond the normal spat a friendship faced between him and Lily, though it had always been clear that he adored Miss Evans above all else, and was heart broken when she began seeing James. But that hadn’t ruined their friendship.

Tom nodded and stepped back from the door. “I was wrong, you know,” he said before Severus could shut the door.

The younger man caught the door and peered at him around it, one eyebrow cocked up. “Some how I find this unsurprising,” he drawled.

“No, I mean, you’re not bad as the Head of House. You’re doing quite well with what you’ve had to handle.” Tom didn’t wait for a reaction, turning and heading back fro the stairs.

* * *

 

As he watched the Gryffindor tryouts (just as he had with the other houses), Tom had to wonder if in his own world Ron Weasley was trying out for Keeper as well. He tried to remember if the Quidditch teams for the other houses were the same, but outside of Harry being a Seeker, he couldn’t remember for certain who had been on the other House teams. The Weasley twins had been, he remember, because once he’d had to keep the pair from bouncing bludgers off some of the Slytherins who were studying by the lake. He already knew that Slytherin’s team was slightly different in its line up, with Millicent Bulstrode replacing Gregory Goyle as a Beater, and Vera Handrum, she was a fourth year now, replacing Miles Bletchley as the Keeper. She was a small thing, but speedy and precise.

He smiled as Ron managed to kick the ball away from the hoop, even as he dangled from his broom stick, and clapped along with the other observers. It was rainy and a bit muggy out, but a slight chill was in the air, the mark of the beginning of fall. He’d wrapped a large Slytherin scarf around his face and he didn’t doubt the only reason no one had run him off was because they were aware it was their professor, and not just another student. Despite his budding friendship with the Weasley clan, Miss Granger and Mr. Potter, he was still a Slytherin at heart and would be proudly cheering on his home team when the games started.

The flyers were landing, and just in time as the rumble of thunder threatened them from afar. Tom tilted his head and stretched his legs out in front of him. Time was passing quickly, now that he had Hogwarts to busy him. Without a doubt there was still the nagging anxiety he’d feel when he’d catch himself thinking about flooing Lilith, only to remember that she wasn’t here. But with a busier schedule he was able to focus on other things. Most of it currently encompassed this business of soul magic, horcruxes, whatever.

A few drops fell from the sky and he realized most of the flyers and their fans had left and he hurried to follow their tracks towards the castle, wrapping his cloak more tightly and rubbing his hands together for warmth. He hadn’t had a chance to talk with Albus about the horcruxes, but knowing him, he likely knew everything Tom knew and more. It was clear that Voldemort had more horcruxes or he would have died permanently with the destruction of his journal. But Tom knew, and confirmed, that he and Voldemort laid their priorities in different places. Tom had never really wrote that much in his diary but Voldemort had turned it into his horcrux, likely one of his first. What else could possibly mean so much to the man?

Tom couldn’t think of anything he’d invest a part of his soul in. If it came to having to pick something he’d probably pick a random stone and then chuck it into the ocean or something. Good luck finding that.

The door to the hall closed behind him and he shook his cloak slightly, sending the few drops that had got him off. He glanced at the House Points Hourglasses. Slytherin was ahead in points, but Ravenclaw was almost neck and neck with them and Gryffindor bringing up the rear, not far behind the Hufflepuffs.

“Ah, there you are, Tom.”

Tom turned and smiled as Albus descended from the stairs that lead up to the moving staircases. “Hello Albus.”

Dumbledore joined him in front of the hourglasses. “I was wondering if you might help me with something.”

“What might that something be?” Tom asked, pulling the scarf from around his neck. It was farm warmer in the castle than it had been outside.

The headmaster gestured for him to follow him back towards the stairs. “I am planning to speak with an old friend of ours to see if he might help us with our little problem.” He said casually.

“Of ours?” Tom asked.

“Of course, surely you remember your old Head of House.” Albus said with some amusement.

Tom blinked for a moment before nodding. “Oh, of course.” Not that he really understood why they needed to go to Slughorn or that it was even a good idea for him to tag along. Surely Slughorn knew the correlation between the Tom Riddle he taught and the crazed maniac that was running amok.

“But first,” Albus continued, “I wanted to show you something I managed to find some years ago.” He looked over his shoulder at Tom and smiled, “I think it would be most valuable to helping us.”

Tom frowned but didn’t say anything as he followed the older man to his office. Fawkes was nowhere to be seen and Tom leaned slightly against the desk as the headmaster retrieved his pensieve. “I collected several memories during the first wizarding war,” Dumbledore explained, setting the pensieve on his desk, and fetching a couple vials from the case as well, “When I was originally trying to find a way to stop Voldemort.”

“Does this have something to do with the horcruxes?” Tom asked, watching the man’s face carefully.

Albus straightened and looked back at him. “I thought you might figure it out.” He looked a little pleased.

“The diary sparked it. And the way Potter discussed how he’d first met Voldemort in his first year, and then again in his second,” Tom explained. “I also found an old book in the Black library that gave it a name.”

“When I originally was searching for information on Voldemort’s origins, I must admit I was grasping at straws,” Albus said, carefully emptying one of the vials into the bowl. “I was certain examining his past in detail would reveal the best way to defeat him. It wasn’t until young Harry brought me that diary in his second year that I realized many of the puzzle pieces I had seen and originally disregarded as irrelevant, were all tied together.” He stopped and gestured for Tom to look into the pensieve, and so he did.

* * *

 

He’d never seen a memory of his mother before nor of his grandfather. He’d never even bothered to meet his uncle, who had been alive but in Azkaban when Tom had gained possession of the Gaunt home. He’d always wondered what his mother was like. When he was a child he dreamed his father would come and save him from the orphanage, but he knew his mother was dead and gone, having given birth to him there at the orphanage. When he’d found out Merope Gaunt was a witch, he’d almost been… angry with her for a time. If she was a witch then why hadn’t she bloody well saved herself instead of leaving him all alone, but the memory made it a little more clear. She’d been a broken woman. Running a hand over his face, Tom braced himself against the desk with the other. When he’d finished the first memory, which apparently belonged to a man by the name of Bob Ogden, he’d watched another shorter one, which had apparently been taken from his own uncle.

“You think one is the ring then?” Tom asked, looking up at Albus, who simply nodded. “Wait a second, you mentioned before that Miss Weasley came into the possession of the diary, correct?” He asked, and Albus nodded again. “How?”

“It was suggested that Lucius Malfoy slipped it among her school books during a confrontation he had with her father in Diagon Alley.” Albus said watching Tom with that look that said he was waiting for Tom to tie the pieces together on his own.

“Then that means he’d entrusted it to the Malfoys before his demise, right?” Tom pressed.

“It would certainly appear that way.” Albus agreed.

“Alright, so to backtrack, horcruxes are pieces of our souls and no one in their damn right mind would want a piece of their teenage soul to be carved out for history to see, so we’re pretty sure he made the diary when he was at Hogwarts, probably as a test run.” He ran a hand through his hair and stared off at the window, “And he probably found the ring the same way I did, when I was going through the Gaunt house when I got it from the ministry when I became of age.”

“Except that Voldemort never officially took possession of the Gaunt home from the Ministry,” Albus added.

“No, but that makes sense, he wouldn’t want a paper trail connecting him to the Gaunts, but he could have still broken into the house and took the ring. So the ring and the diary. Where would he keep the ring?”

“I have a few other memories for you to see, first,” Albus said gently.

* * *

 

When he’d finished about both of the memories that Albus himself had provided, one detailing his first meeting with the professor in the Orphanage and the other when Voldemort had applied for the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts at the school, he watched a final memory, this one having been provided by a house elf by the name of Hokey.

“Well, we knew he liked trinkets,” Tom mumbled. Dumbledore had a taken a seat while he had been viewing the memories and now resting his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers in contemplation. “So he’s only going to pick things that mean something to him. So right now we have the diary, the ring, and Hufflepuff’s cup and Slytherin’s locket.” He paused and turned his head to the headmaster. “Slytherin’s locket I understand but why Hufflepuff’s cup?”

“I believe he was attempting to find pieces from each house, due to the importance of Hogwarts in his life.” Albus answered.

“Yeah… It was our first home. So then that means he’d also have something from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw as well. That makes for at least six horcruxes, seven if we count the snake as a possibility.”

“His snake?” Albus asked, raising his eyebrows in question.

“When I was at Grimmauld Place looking through the Black library with Sirius, he mentioned that Harry said he kept a large snake with him most of the time.” Tom explained. “I haven’t exactly read anything about the horcruxes being put into living beings, but I suppose we shouldn’t rule it out.”

“No, we shouldn’t. However, both Ravenclaw and Gryffindor’s only known artifacts have been lost to time, and it was only recently that Harry pulled Gryffindor’s sword from the sorting hat in his second year.”

“So maybe he didn’t get his hands on something of either of theirs, or maybe he did and kept it a secret,” Tom suggested.

“It’s certainly possible.” Albus rose and retrieved a final vial from the cupboard. “In here, I believe if our final clue.” He held out the vial and Tom took it from him. “There’s isn’t much there. It’s a fake memory, given to me by Horace Slughorn when I first began looking into these things. I believe he might be able to give us some insight on what other objects Voldemort might have considered for horcruxes.”

* * *

 

Despite the rain, he followed Albus off of the campus, the pair casting charms to dispel the rain from their cloaks. When they reached the gates, Tom took the headmaster’s arm and felt the familiar rush of apparition.

The streetlamps were on and Tom looked up and down the street. Further up the road there were a couple of adults lingering by a car talking, but they paid no mind to the new arrivals. Muggles always did seem oblivious to the ongoings of magic around them. Tom turned his attention to the very muggle house in question and furrowed his brows. “Albus?”

“Yes?” He replied as he stepped towards the garden gate.

“Has Slughorn always lived here?” Tom asked.

“Actually no,” Albus answered, unlatching the gate and holding it open for the younger man to follow. “He has changed his address twice since the end of last school year.”

“He feels threatened?” Tom pressed, moving to walk alongside the headmaster as they approached the door.

“As your Head of House, Horace was there first hand to watch you grow from a child to an adult. That makes him a danger to Voldemort, and Horace would realize this,” The old wizard explained and Tom nodded his head in agreement.

Albus rapped the door with his fingers and when no one answered, he twisted the doorknob and let them inside. It clearly wasn’t Slughorn’s residence. Possibly he’d rented it or something, but he didn’t have many of the keepsakes he liked to have around his own abode in Tom’s world. The furniture was also on the plain side and movement from the kitchen drew their attention.

Horace was balding in his older age, and pudgier than Tom remembered, but even then he hadn’t seen his old Head of House since shortly after Sophie had been born.

“What do you think you’re doing, breaking into my house?” The man snapped at Albus, openly glaring at him. As his eyes slid from Albus to Tom, they widened and he took a step back. “Who are you?” He demanded hotly.

It was clear that Slughorn recognized him, but probably simply didn’t want to believe what he was seeing. It would be easier for him to pretend Albus had brought along someone who looked like Tom Riddle than the alternative.

“I believe you already know Tom,” Albus started, but Horace was already backing back into the kitchen.

“No, no no no, whatever this all is, I want nothing to do with it,” He called, turning abruptly and walking back towards the kitchen. Tom raised up his eyebrows and shrugged slightly as Albus’s eyes slid to him.

“I suppose I don’t look Dark Lord-y enough?” He asked and the Headmaster cracked a small smile, moving to follow Horace.

“Horace-” Dumbledore began, but Slughorn was already cutting him off and waving a wand to levitate a whistling tea kettle to pour its contents into a mug, “No, I don’t care whatever it is you’re going to ramble on about, I want nothing to do with whatever madness you’ve concocted this time. Keep my nose down and out of the line of fire from you and the Ministry, what with this nonsense about You-Know-Who coming back-”

“We know you spoke with him about the horcruxes,” Tom interrupted, not wanting to play the run around with the man. It was a safe assumption that that’s what the broken memory was the subject of, even if it was broken, or Albus wouldn’t have brought it up after showing him all the others.

Horace faltered off and turned around to fiddle with the mug and the tea bag he’d tossed into it. Silence filled the kitchen and Albus took a seat at the small breakfast nook in the corner. Tom stood in the doorway, blocking Slughorn’s only exit, unless he wanted to apparate or something drastic. Tom truly doubted it would come to that though. Slughorn was all about avoiding confrontation as a whole.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He muttered with annoyance, still tending to his mug, stirring some sugar in.

“We know you spoke with Tom Riddle about horcruxes and that he made them.” Tom continued, wondering if the man was going to ignore the elephant in the room forever. It looked like he intended to, shooting a quick glance at Albus, but nothing in his direction.

“Horace,” Dumbledore began again, “We just wish to know what was said. He might have given a clue as to what he was planning to do.”

“No,” Slughorn snapped, placing his hands on the counter and looking out the window. “There wasn’t anything.”

“Then let us see the real memory-” Tom tried, but Horace cut him off.

“So what are you supposed to be? Don’t think I didn’t read the article in the Prophet. Tom Riddle Fills Defense Against the Dark Arts Position.” He turned and finally glared openly at Tom. “How’d he pull it off?” He asked, gesturing at Albus.

It clicked in his brain and Tom raised his chin in recognition. He didn’t think he was really Tom Riddle, just someone Dumbledore had pulled out of a hat to take the spot and turn the Wizarding World on its head. No wonder he didn’t seem overly worried about the implications of him being there.

“Not everyone knows Riddle went and became a Dark Lord, but there’s still a few,” Horace continued, raising the mug. “And here you are trying to bait him, even after that unfortunate bit with Diggory’s son.”

“So you admit he’s back?” Tom asked.

His old Head of House gave him a hard stare and then finally let out a sigh. “It’d be bloody foolish to not pay it some mind.”

“We can give you a proper safe house, Horace.” Dumbledore said gently. “You won’t have to keep on the run.”

The silence went, and Slughorn’s eyes went back and forth between Albus and Tom. “You always have some safe house, but it doesn’t mean it’ll stay safe if You-Know-Who is back.”

“I am genuinely curious who started this “You-Know-Who” and “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named” nonsense,” Tom said with a sigh, folding his arms and leaning slightly on the door frame.

“Horace, this is actually Tom Riddle. Just not the Tom Riddle we knew.” Dumbledore explained softly, and the old Potions Master narrowed his eyes.

“It’s a long story.” Tom said, shaking his head. “I became a Defense Professor, your Riddle become a Dark Lord.” He gave a slight shrug at the startled expression his old professor gave him.

“But, but how?” Horace said, taking a step closer, eyeing Tom with scrutiny.

“Like I said, long story, something that the Department of Mysteries was working on. Accidentally fell through a portal or something and now I’m here.” That was the short of it and surely someone, probably Albus, would tell the man a lengthier version of the tale at some point. Horace was still giving him a look that said he didn’t quite buy it all, and honestly if someone had told him the same thing a year earlier he would have suggested they go to St. Mungo’s.

Finally Slughorn’s shoulders sagged and Tom and Albus watched with bated breath as the man pulled a vial from the inside of the robe he wore, and then carefully touched his wand to his temple. Slowly, the silvery strand was pulled from the man and he carefully slipped it into the vial, before recorking it and holding it out towards Tom. Horace’s eyes seemed to bore into him and Tom gave him a small nod in hopes of reassuring him. “Thank-”

“Expelliarmus!” A streak of light came between the pair, knocking the vial violently from Slughorn’s hand and onto the countertop behind them, the vial shattering on impact. Tom had blinked the moment the voice had sounded out and was turning and drawing his wand, aware that Slughorn was trying to duck behind him and Albus was up from his seat. Whipping around, he caught sight of a chubby balding man, but what caught his attention more than anything was the bright metallic hand that the man had. He looked familiar, but it was Albus’s shout of “Peter!” that brought the recognition. Peter Pettigrew. He looked far different here than he did in Tom’s world, silver hand aside.

Worse for wear and his clothes shabby, what little hair Peter had left was thin and his face was etched with lines that made him look much older than he was. This was the man who had betrayed Lily and James Potter to Voldemort and placed the blame upon his other friend, Sirius. It was because of this man, as much as it was Voldemort, that the Potters had been through everything they had.

“Avada Ka-” The voice rang and Tom grabbed Horace roughly by his robes and threw the both of them to the side to dodge the killing curse, Albus falling back the other way towards the table he’d been sitting at before. The green blast of the Unforgivable slammed into the kitchen, breaking the window behind it. Slughorn was groaning at Tom, who was half on top of him from the fall, but he ignored it, scrambling to his feet, using the wall for coverage.

“What the fuck-” He growled loudly as another spell shot through the doorway and into the small kitchen, though this time it was another color and likely a different spell. Chancing a glance around the frame, he caught sight of the man and sent a silent stunner towards him. Pettigrew had improved is dueling, at least so far as Tom remembered, and he ducked behind the furniture in the living room, sending his own stunners and one or two hexes as well.

Another look around the frame and Tom could see that Pettigrew was actually retreating. Perhaps he hadn’t been expecting him and Albus together, but that also brought the question of how he’d found them. If he’d been canvassing the house, he would have known that now was a horrible time for an attack. Something shattered in the living room and it reminded Tom of the vial. Oh, of course. Maybe whatever it was that was in the memory would in fact given them a clue, and Pettigrew was ready to put his life on the line to keep that secret.

“How on Earth did you end up with the dark lord?” Tom asked more himself than the man in the other room, looking in Albus’s direction. Albus was opposite of Tom, in a similar situation, leaning on the doorframe and trying to sneak glances in between spells. Tom took a deep breath and darted from the kitchen, throwing himself in a half slide across the tile to the cover of one of the couches. A spell streaked just above him and he moved around the side of the couch to shoot a freezing charm at the man.

A shout indicated that it had landed, but when Tom poked his over the top of the sofa, Peter was still standing, but appeared to be limping. He’d gotten his leg then. “Immobulus!” Tom said again, and Peter ducked down behind a chair. Spellfire came from the kitchen, likely Albus, but Tom paid no mind to it, waiting for the younger man to remerge. Only he didn’t. A silence filled the room and Tom slowly rose up, trying to glance around the room. It appeared to be empty.

“Accio Peter!” Albus called from the doorway and there was a loud squeak as a rat was dragged into the open. Of course, Tom thought, aiming his wand at the rat, who was trying to make a break for it the moment the spell had lifted. Harry had mentioned it, of course, when describing his third year, but he’d forgotten, given all the other information he’d had to absorb.

“Immobulus,” Tom said wearily, freezing the rat in its tracks. He leaned heavily against the couch he’d been hiding behind before and looked back at Albus and Horace, who’d finally come into view. “Wouldn’t happen to have a container to stick him in?”

 

 


End file.
